


to live, not just survive

by tyrellis



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Background Relationships, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-08-14 08:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8005723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrellis/pseuds/tyrellis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean spent almost half his life in the Nest, property of the Moriyamas, number three in Riko's Perfect Court, and one of the finest backliners in college exy. It is a little difficult to hand him a flower without him looking for the knife it hides.</p><p>It is a little difficult for him to believe he has any worth at all outside of exy, but Jeremy Knox is nothing if not persistent, and optimistic, and frustratingly kind-hearted.</p><p>A look at Jean's transition to the Trojans, and the awkward, painful blossoming of a relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. beginning again

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is actually me just writing about how great jeremy knox is, bc he is the Ideal Boyfriend, for everyone, like me, and also jean moreau. more characters will show up, obviously, but i'll update the tags as and when. sorry for the shitty Everything, but i haven't thought up a title/summary in like. a year yikes!
> 
> anyway. i uh. accidentally deleted a good chunk of this (like...over half....) so if it starts seeming unnatural or like. weird. that's why. also i've chosen to write jeremy as being an indigenous american ! i saw the hc on tumblr and just. picked it up. put it in my trolley of fic ingredients.,,.. im a white scottish person so pls ! pls! tell me if im writing him wrong/badly or generalising him too much.... ive put some research into it, but it's a Lot and it's hard to find relevant info. also - ik very little of la/usa in general im basing la off what i saw the 2 hrs we were stuck in a traffic jam getting out the airport lmao. so idk there r probs very basic things to do w college n stuff that im just Not Getting so. apologies in advance
> 
> lastly.....enjoy.....? uh, take those tags into consideration. there's no graphic description of any of it except the panic attacks, but there r suggestions. if u've read nora's extra content on tumboblr u'll kno. if u havent.............. continue living ur life in peace. i wish i could.
> 
> this is also un-beta'd etc etc...... any mistakes u see r me being Dumb sorry lads
> 
> if u enjoy it, pls leave a comment ! i'd love some feedback !

Jean's first impression of Jeremy Knox is that he's terribly - _terribly_ \- cheerful. That it is very clear why he was never chosen to be a Raven. That Jean can't imagine the Day Spirit Aware going to anyone - any _team_ \- else.

His second, third, fourth impressions are all very similar. It is hard to see past Jeremy's smiling facade, which Jean suspects isn't much of a facade at all, no matter what other people think; every teammate, rival, interviewer, is greeted with variations of a toothy grin, crinkling eyes, wide open body language, and shockingly genuine well wishes. His teammates all adore him; rivals, even, are either fond of him or intensely jealous; interviewers adore his charming demeanour, hate his inability to stir up trouble. It points to the honesty of Jeremy Knox that every person he encounters says the exact same thing about him - _genuine_. Cheerful. Kind. If it was a facade, someone would've said so.

His game reflects his personality very well, Jean thinks. There is a looseness to his movements that replicates the openness of his smile, that allows him to jump and twist and scoop the ball from the air, or the ground, or off a rebound. He's incredibly in-tune with his team, using gestures instead of words when mere looks don't translate whatever play or advice he relays to them. There is very rarely bad blood lingering between him and his rivals, too - no red cards for the Trojans, and half the time it seems their good grace charms the rival team into easing off violent checks as well. Jean knows, having played against him, marked him, even, that there is certainly a desire to...soften, almost, in his presence - to allow oneself to relax, to be careless. Jeremy could likely use it against rivals, if he had one bad bone in his body.

Jean knows, having played against him, having marked him, that the Ravens are the only team unaffected by his and his team's jovialness. The Ravens are tough and cold and calculated where the Trojans are warm and welcoming and open. Technically, the Ravens excell far past the Trojans, but it is no secret that more Trojans make Court than Ravens.

Jean says, "He is a threat. He is highly skilled, an impressive leader, and very coordinated with his team."

Riko says, "He is nothing in comparison to us."

By 'us', Riko means only himself.

This is eighteen months before Riko is shot in the head, before either of them could possibly entertain the idea that Riko could die, or that Jean would one day fall under Jeremy's captaincy.

-

Jean's first in-the-flesh impression is identical to the one he formed whilst watching matches with the other Ravens in the nest. Judging someone when you're playing them, or even marking them, isn't quite the same thing as staring at the hand in front of you, knowing that in the next month you will have to play by their side.

Jean does not shake Jeremy Knox's hand. Instead, he crosses his arms tightly over his body, and regards the man in front of him. It is different to see an exy captain off-court, in such a relaxed environment - as much as airport arrivals are relaxed. He is smiling, of course, with blond curls that fall into his eyes every two seconds. Having such unruly hair must be inefficient - in the Nest it would've been cut, or shaved altogether.

"Welcome to LA!" Jeremy says, rescinding his hand without a single raised eyebrow or scowl. "Must be a little different from Edgar Allen, yeah? Don't worry, you'll get used to the sun. Any bags?"

There is one suitcase beside Jean, and in it contains all the items he now has to his name that aren't locked away in the Nest - clothes that Renee had bought him, mostly, all shades of grey because Renee knows not to push; an entire first-aid kit containing everything Jean needs to continue caring for any remaining unhealed wounds and scars; very basic toiletries also bought by Renee; and some shoes.

No, Jean does not have any more bags. He looks at Jeremy without speaking, and his meaning must be clear as Jeremy starts making his way out the airport, Jean by his side.

"I got here a little early, wasn't sure how long you'd be, didn't know how many bags you had, so I had to park - won't take us long to get there, though! I should fill you in before we get there - the team's kind of a handful, obviously most of them are back home for the holidays, but a few are still lurking around."

Jeremy keeps chattering all the way to the car, which as promised takes a good ten minutes to get to, mostly about the team Jean will meet when pre-season practises begin in June. Jean's glad - he knows most of the team through watching their matches - so he's able to focus on other things, like the brightness of the sun that has Jean reaching for the sunglasses Renee slid in his pocket, or on the loudness of all the cars around him.

Suddenly this big, bright world seems incredibly too much - Jean stayed locked up in the Nest for years before he was eligible for the college team, and even then he only went out for classes, away matches, and the banquets. The Nest is luxurious and comfortable, but the low ceilings and all-black decor makes it feel far smaller than it is. Jean is used to the crushed feeling in his lungs like he can't breathe; used to all-encompassing darkness and the promise of another Raven being not two metres away from where he is. This- all this _room_ , to breathe and live and play exy, is as overwhelming as the way Neil Josten said _we're safe for good_ that day in Abby's guest room. It hadn't felt real then, and it still doesn't feel real now, but there's something to be said for the blue sky stretching out endlessly before him and Jeremy Knox's incessant blathering.

Something must be wrong, because suddenly Jeremy is catching his eye and saying very carefully, "Hey, we're almost at the car. You gonna make it?"

At which point Jean realises he's breathing too fast, too shallow, and chides himself instantly for this display of weakness - maybe it had been okay at Abby's when no one else was around, and okay with Renee who pressed one hand to his back and said nothing else, but it isn't okay, in this wide open world, and certainly not around Jeremy Knox.

_We're safe, we're safe_ , Neil Josten's voice says in his head, but that only makes it worse. Everyone knows Neil Josten is a liar - Jean knew it even before spending three Raven weeks with him - so his word isn't exactly reassuring. _Riko is gone_ , Renee's voice says instead. _He can't hurt you anymore._

But that isn't the problem right now, either. There is no way to fight the openness of the sky above him, nor the sun burning above and beside him. Renee, of course, had foreseen this problem - they'd gone on walks around the Palmetto campus once he was able to - but somehow that doesn't compare in the glaring Californian sun.

"Jean?"

Jeremy is being very careful not to touch him, and Jean is at once ridiculously grateful and intensely worried. Riko did things like this sometimes - played nice, didn't hurt him, didn't let anyone touch him - only to turn it around and ruin the spell, tear Jean down for even thinking he deserved that kind of peace. How is Jean supposed to trust that Jeremy won't do the same? He tries to consider his weaknesses: Jeremy is shorter than Jean, but so was Riko, by more, so that isn't very helpful. Jean might've been able to say he was stronger than Jeremy, once - backliners generally tend to be more built than strikers - but so long spent recovering and no time at all at the gym means that his body isn't quite what it once was. Jean is still injured, technically, and Jeremy is in perfect health 

"Car," Jean says around his gasping, no breath behind his word. Jeremy sets off faster, but still with one eye on Jean to make sure he's by his side. Even that is strange - if Riko strode on, Jean was expected to follow, no heads turned nor questions asked. Jeremy speeds up, yes, but turns his body towards Jean, one hand lingering between them.

Jean only feels better when his suitcase is locked in the boot of the car and he and Jeremy in the front seats. Life feels smaller, and therefore more manageable, when there are walls and a roof and a floor to stretch out and feel. Jeremy tells him he can pull a lever and give himself more legroom, and Jean acquiesces with a frown, wondering at the space he is given, is allowed to take up. Surely, _surely_ , this can't last.

Before Jeremy starts the car, he turns to Jean, with no smile but no scowl, no pulled brows, no furious eyes, either. "Was there a problem outside?" he asks, very softly. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Jean cannot trust it. He once trusted Kevin Day, as much as one can trust another in the Nest, and look where that got him - Kevin Day escaped into the world without one second glance at Jean. Jean hisses, " _No_."

"Alright," Jeremy accepts easily, and twists the key, the engine coming to life beneath them. "But if I can, just say the word."

And that's all. He doesn't insist, or grab Jean's wrist and squeeze, or even talk about therapists. He leaves the option open, and turns the car on, and rolls down every window.

He asks, "Mind if I play any music?" Jean shakes his head. He asks, "Any preferences?"

Jean shakes his head again. Jeremy rifles through a CD case for quite some time, before popping a CD and letting it play at a moderate volume. It's something upbeat, poppy, something Jean's never heard before.

"Is that okay?" Jeremy asks before he reverses out the spot.

Jean shrugs.

Jeremy doesn't say anything to this, just begins bopping his head to the beat as he pulls out and begins driving out the maze of the airport car parks and onto the motorway.

It is midday, so they're missing rush hour by a decent margin, but there is still enough traffic that sometimes the road itself looks like it's glittering - when Jean had been sitting in the airplane, by the window, he had looked down on it and saw a line of gleaming gems, extravagant and beautiful and inefficient.

Jeremy decides to use this time to fill Jean in on how the year will be playing out. "My roommate graduated last month," he says, "so I've got a bed free for you. We've got our own floor in the Trojans Hall, but I've got the best room - everyone else has to share a kitchen, but we get our own, plus we get the biggest TV. We also get a bath as well as a shower. It's pretty cool. So we get our own kitchen, but there's also the athletes food hall if you can't be bothered making anything - it's super healthy, protein-filled stuff, obviously. The stadium isn't far from the dorms, and there's a gym there, a lounge, locker rooms... Everything a normal exy court has, obviously."

Jean wonders if it's a jab at the Ravens, that their having the Nest beneath the court makes it abnormal. Jean has no illusions that it doesn't, of course, and regardless, it doesn't seem the type of thing for someone like Jeremy to imply.

The air folds warmly across Jean as Jeremy begins describing the campus. Jean takes it all in without thinking, staring out the window to watch LA glitter around him. It's a trick of the light - a single cloud across the sun and Jean's sure the grime that infests every city would be easy to pick out, but sunshine makes everything looks far lovelier than it ever is.

Take- well, take Jeremy, for example: he loves the sun, lets it stream in the open windows and soaks it up in shorts and a vest, even _sandles_. His tan indigenous skin gleams sandy-brown with the light, his messy blond hair bouncing and bright, his brown eyes shining golden. It's a trick, an illusion - there is nothing golden or holy about Jeremy, but the sun is as in love with him as he is with it, graces him with freckles till he is sacred with it. Angels' kisses crowd his cheeks and nose, scatter along his arms, cling to each other on his shoulders. There is nothing about Jeremy that the sun doesn't adore - there is nothing about Jeremy that isn't the sun reincarnate.

Jean is the one thing that is unimproved in this light. He has been cooped up so long that his skin is no longer just pale, but a sickening, ghostly white; his hair is a dusty brown, his grey eyes dull. The sun shines light on the scars and the cuts and the tattoo in a way that he cannot hide; there is no safety in this. Being around Renee wasn't like this - her light was softer, easier to hide from, or in. She was the shining gem of light in the darkness, and now she's taken him out of the darkness he realises she was never the light all along, only the way to get there.

That isn't to say Renee doesn't shine - before meeting her, Jean didn't think people like her even _existed_ \- but that there is something about Jeremy that she simply doesn't have.

He thinks he prefers her, though.

"So that's the library - we don't go there a lot, for obvious reasons, but you'll probably have to pitch up there a bit during exams. Oh, hey, we'll be passing the court before the dorms - you don't want to have a look at it before we get settled in, yeah?"

Jean has already been in the USC stadium; regardless, he shrugs, and Jeremy grins and turns the car right, taking a parking spot even though no one else is here. It's such a silly little thing that Jean is almost struck dumb; he takes a moment after Jeremy has jumped out the car to follow, finds himself glancing back at the car curiously even as he goes to the entrance.

He shouldn't be, but he is still taken aback when Jeremy flings the door open and there is linoleum tile on the ground. Jean always expects staircases, always treads too carefully across floors as though they'll open up and he'll be flung into another basement. That doesn't happen, and so Jean follows Jeremy through the home team side of the USC stadium, where he has never been before. They go left, into a large, spacious room covered in photographs and framed pictures, trophies and banners and red and gold everywhere. There's an impressive entertainment system that's surrounded by couches, arm chairs, and bean bags. The door next to it isn't labelled, and has a lock.

"I've got the key," Jeremy says when Jean's eyes catches on it. "Don't worry, it's just an archive of recordings."

Jean nods, and they continue out the room into another corridor. The coaches' offices are to the left; to their immediate right is the ladies' changing rooms. They continue down further until they reach the mens' locker room, which Jeremy lets them into. It's as big as the Ravens' with rows of lockers lined with benches, all numbered.

"Here," Jeremy says, and taps on number five. "This is your's, now. We're still getting your uniforms, armour, and stick sorted, but it shouldn't be long before they show up." He digs into his pocket, finds a tiny key. "For your locker."

Jean glances at the five - five is still a perfect court number, and it's not as good as three - but he doesn't say anything and he doesn't panic, which can only be counted as an achievement. They tread onwards, through the large, impressive gym, to the press room, and then they're on the outer court, which is lined with benches and still has enough room for the team to jog double-file around.

"Want to go on court?" Jeremy asks. "Just to get a feel for it."

"I've already played on the Trojans' court."

"It's different when you're on the home team," Jeremy replies easily. "These colours are your colours, now."

It is compelling to think about, and Jean tracks after Jeremy onto the court. The seats are gold and red, and though they are heavy, the Ravens' court felt heavier, smaller, even though it was bigger.

"If you work hard this summer and get back to where you were before, you'll make starting line easy," Jeremy says, arms behind his head as he looks up at the seats surrounding the court. "That's important. I'll explain more when pre-season practise starts, but this season is going to be a lot harder on us than the ones before. We really need to develop our stamina - you saw us against the Foxes the other month, yeah?"

Jeremy doesn't continue until Jean nods.

"They _smashed_ us to pieces - and they only got faster in the second half! That's what I want this team to aspire to - we all need to individually pull our weight like the Foxes had to all last year. How can we say we're the same calibre of player as the Foxes when we're trading players all the time and they've only got two strikers? No, that ends this year. I can't _wait_."

How strange, Jean thinks. This never would've flown in the Nest - it's a waste of time to build up stamina when you have the numbers to trade players when they tire. Better to focus on footwork, passing, striking. And this... _enthusiasm_. Oh, Riko was enthusiastic - to ruin other players, to win, to hurt. Not this...honest sort of enthusiasm, towards self- and team-improvement. Jeremy is excited to have found something his team is bad at, because this means he gets to work on it.

Jean is past the point of even trying to believe any of this is real. This is just a very long, vivid, detailed dream, and he'll wake up and it will all be fake, especially his freedom and Jeremy being the sun and an exy captain being excited about his team's flaws. That would be better. Better that than this, a world that no longer makes sense to Jean. This is not the Nest, nor is it what he can remember of Marseilles - this is something utterly different, and though Renee tried to prepare him, he is utterly unable to cope with it.

"Think about it, Jean," Jeremy says, spreading his arms wide like angel wings, and Jean snaps his head up at his name. He is still hunched and tight, and watching Jeremy makes his body ache to be so free. "We're already one of the top college teams in exy - us and Penn State and the Ravens and the Foxes - and once we start working on our stamina we can only get better! If we can all play full games, even full halves, there'll be no sloppiness, no exhaustion, at the end of quarters or halves - we'll have more energy to be efficient, to be stronger, to work harder! I don't care if the team absolutely hate it - I know they'll understand what I mean. I mean, you can't watch the Foxes and not immediately feel inspired. Their strikers were definitely something else, but I definitely believe we can all aspire to them, don't you think?"

The Foxes' strikers - Jean knows them both uncomfortably well, and thinks there's a lot about Kevin and Neil that isn't particularly admirable.

He shoves his thoughts away from those two - even though Renee got him out the Nest, and Neil negotiated his protection, Kevin and Neil still left him behind in the Nest. He hadn't thought of escape in so long, then suddenly Kevin was gone, and just as Jean was resigning himself, again, that he could never leave, Neil came and went without signing a _thing_.

Thinking about them never helps. Kevin can play with both hands, will likely make Court again soon, and has Theadora to keep him company; likewise, Neil is the fastest striker in the game, will make Court in four years, and seems...bizarrely close with the Minyard goalkeeper.

Jean has nothing like that in the future. Will he make Court? Probably, but he doesn't have anything else they have, and though he has long since dowsed his soul with water, his heart still burns for it.

Instead, he tries to focus on what Jeremy just said. The honesty and yearning in his voice... It almost persuades Jean, too, that this is a good idea, which is terrifying, because Jean doesn't want to be persuaded of anything ever again.

But Jeremy wasn't trying to persuade him anything, Jean thinks; he asked him a question.

"It is admirable," Jean finally says, slowly, checking every word before it leaves his mouth, "but a waste of time. You should focus your training elsewhere."

"What, and just keep swapping people out when they get the slightest bit tired? _Oh_ , Jean, I'll have to disagree with you there! But we'll both see in a month, huh?" Jeremy grins at the idea, all teeth and soft pillowy lips, and then turns his eyes back on Jean. Even when there's no sunlight, they still look like molten gold, and Jean tears his eyes away. "Anyway, we should probably get you settled in. The nurse wants to give you a check up before you go anywhere - I can't say I disagree, considering all of this." He waves a hand in front of his face, and Jean takes this to mean the bruises that still remain, and the stitches, and maybe everything else.

He isn't really comfortable with another person poking at him and his wounds, but he knows that the sooner he's checked, the sooner he can get on the court. He misses it. The fact he hasn't played exy in so long probably has Riko rolling in his grave.

Jean finally nods, and they go side-by-side back to the car. Sometimes Jean can't help but take a step back, slow his pace a little, but Jeremy always matches, a friendly distance between them. It is unnerving.

It feels too much like safety.

\--

The drive to Trojans' Hall is short - it's a big, stately-looking building draped in red and gold banners, emblazoned with the Trojans' mascot. The front double doors lead to a large lounge/reception area, and from there they turn right to reach the elevators. The exy team takes up the fourth of six floors, and when they reach it Jeremy strolls out, swinging his keys on one finger and whistling the last tune they listened to in the car. From the elevator is one long corridor, with doors at equadistant points along the two walls. Straight ahead of them are double doors, and it seems this is where Jeremy is heading.

Jean follows, frowning at his surroundings. The Trojan colours are red and gold, and whilst the carpet is gold and the walls dark red, the doors are a warm brown wood and the lights bright white, and it doesn't make _sense._ There's too much... _colour_. Colour, and height. Jean can't recall the last time he was four storeys off the ground. He's much too used to being cooped up down below, where there is no colour and no high ceilings, he is too used to operating as a _pair,_ not a single unit. How is he supposed to know he is a Trojan through and through if the colours aren't everywhere? How is he supposed to know he exists for exy if his living quarters aren't beneath the court? There's too much...freedom. The thought is terrifying.

How is he going to survive here? He's still weak from his injuries and recovery. He has no Riko to keep him in line, no Kevin to trust, no Ravens to distrust. There are so many things here that Jean is unfamiliar with - the great blue sky yawning above him, the ocean lurking in the distance, something he once adored but now can't look at without thinking of past punishments. He can't ignore the nagging feeling that Riko is still around, just out of sight but ever-watchful. Jean attended the funeral, he _saw_ the coffin being lowered into the ground, but he can't help but wait for the other shoe to drop. What will it be this time, he wonders - this is the biggest transgression Jean's ever made in his _life_. Leave the Nest? Run to the Foxes for help? Transfer to the Trojans? Riko would never forgive him.

If he thinks about it too long he'll start stitching together punishments from past experiences: a fifth time thrown down the stairs, a sixth time passed around, a seventh finger broken, an eleventh time waterboarded...

"Jean? Jean, it's okay. You're in Trojans' Hall, USC, in Los Angeles, California. It's the fifth of May. I'm Jeremy Knox, and I won't hurt you."

Jean blinks, registers Jeremy's soft and concerned golden gaze in front of him. Jean's back is pressed against the wall halfway up the corridor - room 511 is opposite him. Jeremy is standing an arm's length away, hands up but not touching, not getting closer. Breath fast and shallow, Jean stares at those hands, waiting for them to turn into fists, into claws around his neck.

"I'm Jeremy Knox," he repeats, quieter now that he has Jean's attention, "and I won't hurt you."

Jeremy can say that all he likes, Jean thinks, but that doesn't mean they aren't the only people in this whole building - doesn't change the fact that Jean's back is against the wall, or that Jeremy's reputation is so good and glorious that nothing Jean could say would change anyone's opinion of him. Jeremy could do anything, right now, and no one would believe that it had happened.

"I'm sorry," Jean hisses, looking away at his fallen suitcase two yards from him. He thinks of Renee, how he wishes he could call her, how he was supposed to send her a text to let her know his plane arrived fine, but he left his phone on during the flight and now it's dead and he can't ask her for help. He says, "I know."

Jeremy just blinks at him, and Jean realises he's reverted to French. Instead of reiterating himelf in English, he crouches and grabs his suitcase handle, yanking it up before storming down to the double doors they were approaching before.

Jeremy's at his elbow within two seconds, of course, glancing at him curiously as Jean charges forward. He is no longer whistling or swinging his keys, but the quiet is somehow worse than the pitchy pop tunes. He unlocks the doors and holds one open for Jean to go through, and then Jean stills as he takes in the space before him.

There's some red and gold, at least, but these seem mostly touches from Jeremy as opposed to a compulsory colour scheme. Against the left wall is a fairly big telly, with a couple gaming systems plugged in - opposite it is a big sofa and at least half a dozen bean bags puddled together in front of it. Small, mug-stained end tables stand either side of the sofa. There is one armchair off-tilt to the sofa in plush red. There's a USC hoodie lying across the sofa, which Jeremy hastily crosses over to and grabs.

"Sorry," he says, "I should've tidied a bit more."

At the far corner is a kitchenette, with a microwave and a coffee machine and not even a dishwasher. Jean frowns, but carefully takes a few steps forward. It's roomy, yes, but nowhere near as spacious as the lounges in the Nest.

There are big open windows directly opposite the door, too, with a view of the sprawling campus and a hint of the sea that makes Jean feel sick to his stomach. Looking away, he follows Jeremy to a door on the right, past the sofa, that turns out to be their bedroom. Again, it's decent-sized, with double beds and wrap-around desks in the corner. A door to the right is half-open, showing white tile and a sink.

Jeremy side of the room is a _mess_. Jeremy himself chuckles awkwardly and starts explaining, but Jean pays him no attention, instead examining the clothes on the ground and flung across the desk chair; the rumpled star print duvet with matching pillow covers; the USC banners and clothes and flags; all the posters, be they from films or of exy stars; the piles of books and notebooks and loose sheets of paper on the desk; the computer covered in various USC stickers; a cabinet by his bed plastered in trophies and medals; and a corkboard above the head of the bed, gleaming with shiny photos of Jeremy and his friends, and his family.

He takes a curious step forward, leaving his bag by the door, to assess these photos further - more recent photos of Jeremy include what must be the team, during games, at championships, hands up and roaring after winning a game; there are some of him and the team wandering LA, some in USC gear but most not; and there are photos that include snow and mountains and about six other people who look like variations of Jeremy, all toothy grins and freckled cheeks. There are older photos, too, pictures of Jeremy as a child first starting exy, playing in the snow, holding his newly-born younger siblings. Jeremy, somehow, looks the exact same in every picture - brimming with love for those around him, with the same bright smile and golden eyes, whether he's twelve or twenty. How, Jean wonders, is he so unchanged by the world?

His eyes are drawn to a photo up near the top of the board - a row or so of pictures of Jeremy and people with the same tan skin as him, wearing colourful robes and multitudes of feathers. There's a photo of Jeremy, alone, dressed very decoratively, and other photos of him and these people in less formal clothing. It's no secret that Jeremy is of indigenous origin - he's very vocal about it in the press - but Jean's never seen any _photos_ of it.

Jeremy, of course, soon realises what's caught Jean's attention. He grins, of course, and says, "Yeah, that's me and the tribe at the Tule River Reservation. Hey, look." He points at the lone photo of him. "That's the Pow Wow when I was Head Teen Boy. We'd just heard back that I got the USC scholarship, everyone was so proud of me."

Jean isn't really sure what to say to that, so he nods and, with one last glance at the photos, turns back to his bag, hoisting it on his bed and unzipping it.

"Yeah, so, this is our room, the bathroom's right there, bath and shower and the usual. Since we've got the best TV the team comes in on Friday to watch films, we kind of make a night of it... That probably won't start up again till pre-season starts, so don't worry about it now. Uh..."

After a few moments of silence, Jean glances around to see that Jeremy is staring at the mound of black clothing Jean's unpacking, as well as his black shoes and black toiletry bag. It wasn't as if he could take anything from the Nest when he left, but it was too ingrained in him to get all-black that that's what he ended up biying when he was out with Renee. The only variation of colour are the few grey garments that are still dark enough to pass as black in the right light.

When Jean's staring seems to be too much, Jeremy finally looks away and says, "Uh, maybe we should go shopping?"

Jean scoffs, and continues with his things. It doesn't take long to unpack - he didn't have a lot - and it's only when he plugs his dead phone in that Jeremy perks up.

"Hey, if we go out and get you checked over by the nurse, by the time we come back your phone'll probably be fully charged."

Jean considers this, then waits until it turns on and two lone messages come in - _let me know how it goes! :) xx_ from Renee and _you can trust Jeremy_ from Kevin - before sending a quick _Landed fine. Talk later._ to Renee and switching his phone off again.

It's another short ride to the nurse's, but Jeremy insists on playing more pop music and humming along to the tune. He keeps pointing out various bits of the campus, and Jean pays vague attention, more concerned about trusting some unknown team nurse with his injuries.

But he did it before, with Abby, at Palmetto. He can do it again.

Jeremy keeps chatting right up to the doorstep of the two-floor house they park by, before smiling sunnily at the tall brunette woman who answers the door. "Hello, Miss Sofia," he chirps. "This is Jean Moreau, our new backliner. He's got a few nasty cuts and bruises he needs looking after."

"Hello, Jean. I am Sofia Sanchez, the Trojans' nurse" she says, before pointing her finger in Jeremy's chest and saying, "How many times must I tell you it is just _Sofia_." She abruptly turns back, expecting them to follow, and Jeremy allows Jean to go in first before following them all the way to the treatment room. Without a word, Jeremy waves and trots back downstairs, leaving Jean and Sofia to enter the room and shut the door.

"So, Jean," Sofia says, "what is the nature of these injuries? How have they been treated? How long have you been recovering? And you do not need to answer this, but it may help to know how were they inflicted."

Jean answers everything but the last question in his usual clinical manner, and though he hesitates to remove his shirt so she can examine his injuries, he forces himself to do so despite the anxiety. He knows his body is a mass. Even despite the gauze and bruises that are currently wrapped around him, he has long matching knife scars on his shoulders, whip marks on his back, rows of neat cuts down his arms, dozens of small silvery lines crisscrossing over the rest of him.

There's the usual moment of staring as Sofia processes the scars that exist besides his injuries, her eyes getting the same heartbroken look that had been present in Abby's, before she presses her lips together and gets to work.

It takes an hour, roughly. As Jean sits on the examination table and pulls his shirt back on, Sofia says very briskly, "No exy for another week, at _least_. You may be recovering well, but I will not see that hindered by _any_ strenuous activity."

"A week?" Jean repeats, and shakes his head. "I am fine to play, this is nothing."

"A _week_ ," she says, sharper this time, her Spanish accent more pronounced. "If any other player came in with a _quarter_ of your injuries I would have them sitting out for just as long. _Nothing_. _Dios mio_ , I wonder at the things the Ravens did if this is _nothing_ to you." The heartbroken look comes and goes within seconds. "No, you will sit out a week, and then return to me, and if I deem you fit to play, only _then_  will you play. If your injuries have still not recovered adequately, _another_ week out. Yes?"

Jean stares at her for a moment, messy feelings of anger and fear and guilt squeezing his heart, before he says, " _Oui_."

"Very good. Now go get Jeremy. That poor boy has been worried sick about you since he knew you were transferring." She rolls her eyes and opens the door, gesturing for him to leave. "Out, out. This is supposed to be my vacation time."

Jean does as she says, collecting Jeremy from where he's watching some Spanish soap opera on the television, and it takes Jean at least five attempts to get him off the sofa. Once they leave, Jeremy starts chattering again.

"So, that was Miss Sofia," he says, unlocking the car and hopping in. "A real charmer," he continues once Jean's inside too. "Acts tough but deep inside she thinks of us like her kids. All the teams pitched in together to get her a really nice holiday away with her family for her birthday last year, and it's the closest I've ever seen her to crying."

How _strange_. Jean says, "Why would you buy her anything at all?"

Jeremy glances at him, then replies, "Well, to show our appreciation, of course. She looks after all of us no matter how much we mess up, and she'll call us to check up on us or let us just sit on her couch and watch bad soap operas when we're feeling down... She's like family."

_Family_. Jean hasn't heard from his parents since they sold him to the Moriyamas. The last he remembers are the dead looks in their eyes as they handed him over, kicking and screaming, to Tetsuji and Riko.

"She'll love you in no time," Jeremy continues. "She's got a soft spot for people like you."

Jean digs his fingers into his knee and asks, "People like me?"

Another look, this time a little wide-eyed and guilty. "Oh, no, I didn't mean- I just mean...people who've had a hard time in life. You know?"

"I don't," Jean says curtly, and they don't speak after that. Jeremy not-so-subtly turns up the volume of the music, and hums a little more unevenly as they pull into the Trojans' Hall car park.

Once they reach their room, Jean only stays in the bedroom for a moment before taking his charged phone and moving to the main room, sitting on the kitchen counter so he can still see Jeremy on his computer through the door.

"Renee," he says quietly when she finally picks up.

_"Hello, Jean. How is it at USC?"_

"It is...strange."

_"What makes you say that?"_

"It is...very... It is nothing like the Nest. I do not understand it."

_"I can imagine it's very strange to someone who's not used to it. I'm sure that it'll start seeming more normal with every day, though. How is Jeremy?"_

"Fine," he says swiftly. "The nurse tells me I cannot play for another week at least."

_"I'm glad. Your injuries were really severe, Jean. It's better to be safe than sorry."_

"If you think so. I..." Lowering his voice further, he admits, "I dread the future, Renee. I do not want to play with them; they are _nothing_ like the Ravens."

_"That's a good thing. It will take time, and yes, it will be tough, but at the end of the day you'll be better for it. A better player, a better person... And Jean..."_ She pauses, then says, _"I won't be available to call all the time. Of course I'll try my best to help you when you need it, you know you can always talk to me, but do not be afraid to rely on Jeremy. He is a good man. He won't take advantage of you."_

"He is my captain," Jean says, lips curling bitterly. "He can do anything he likes."

_"He wouldn't, though. He is the exact opposite of Riko."_

"...Perhaps. I should...go back. He wants us to watch old games together."

_"That sounds fun. Enjoy yourself, Jean."_

"Tch. Goodbye, Renee."

_"Goodbye, Jean. Call back soon."_

And then she's gone.

He and Jeremy end up ordering take out, something painfully unhealthy that Jeremy practically inhales, and they sit side by side on the sofa, watching old USC games all evening. Jeremy demands outright honesty from Jean, and Jean is more than happy to comply - it is easy to list all the flaws in the Trojans' game, and Jeremy furiously scirbbles down all he says in one of his notebooks, often asking questions or for Jean to elaborate on what he's saying. Jean feels...almost content by the end of the evening, still wary of Riko's ghost but glad that his criticism was taken so well.

It is when Jeremy goes to shower that things go wrong again. Jean is sitting on his bed, playing Snake on his phone, when Jeremy simply hops up and goes to the bathroom.

One minute passes once the door shuts before Jean starts panicking. He can hear the shower, and Jeremy singing to himself, and logically he knows there is a mere _door_ separating the two of them, but Jean is suddenly all alone in this moderately sized room, with only himself and the remainders of Jeremy to keep him company, and he ends up curled up tight against the headboard, barely gasping for breath with his forehead pressde to his knees.

Eventually, the words _I am Jeremy Knox, and I'm not going to hurt you_ peel through the layers of panic enough that Jean can raise his head, and see Jeremy crouching by his bed, hair wet and eyes sad.

It takes a few minutes for Jean to regulate his breathing, and then Jeremy just murmurs, "Can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?"

Jean just keeps his eyes down and doesn't say anything. After a moment, Jeremy retreats, and Jean tears his shirt off, ignoring the way Jeremy's eyes stick to the mess on his chest before he looks sharply away. Jean simply changes into his pyjamas without paying Jeremy much attention, then gets into bed and curls up on his side.

Unfortunately, this gives him the perfect view of Jeremy changing. He has the perfect body, of course - broad-shouldered, defined abs, sculpted thighs - without any of the flaws Jean's has. He has more freckles across his chest, down his back. Jean can't _help_ looking.

Jeremy doesn't put another top only, only turns out the light and gets into his own bed. 

Jean rolls to face the wall and buries his head in his pillow. If Riko had seen that... The things he'd say, the things he'd _do_...

_Jeremy isn't like that_ , Renee's voice says, but Jean never told her about this aspect of Riko's abuse. He _couldn't_. It only happened five times, and it was his fault every single time. He'd been so frightened the first time, because Riko had caught him looking too long and gotten a terrifying smile on his face, and then nothing happened for _months_.

If Jeremy was offered what Riko offered the others... If he saw what they saw...he would do it, too. That's why Jean can't trust him. That's why Jean won't _let_ himself trust him. In the end, they're always the same - Jeremy wouldn't be any exception.

_I want you to stay safe_ , Renee had told him, and that's what Jean was doing - keeping himself safe.


	2. a day out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jean and jeremy go out for the day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright hello again !!! i was going to wait till like, midnight to post this to pretend i have a """schedule""" but let's just say this updates saturdays, be that at 3pm sat or 2am sun. uh, the first....half ??? or more ?? of this was part of what got accidentally deleted so if anything sounds strange/there r weird lurches in flow etc... it's bc of that D:
> 
> be warned for a few more panic attacks, mentions of nightmares, vague suggestions of riko's torture/jean's past abuse. also: bright yellow jorts (u don't understand the LEVEL OF RESTRAINT i showed in this chapter by refusing to use that word). it's my ridiculous hc that jeremy dresses half sports jock, half dick gansey from the raven cycle
> 
> this is where more of my lack of general us knowledge becomes abundantly clear. can ppl walk around la ?? almost everywhere ive been in the us u always have to fucking drive literally everywhere so ???????? pls suspend ur belief etc as necessary. also apologies for like, talking shit abt diners. that happens.
> 
> anyway a fun jeremy fact: if this takes place in may 2001 then the spice girls broke up like, 6 months before this fic started and it broke jeremy's heart and no one is allowed to play spice girls around him. other fun fact: high school musical doesn't exist yet. i know. take a moment.
> 
> also. also. regarding the use of french: long phrases/sentences will be written in english w 'he said in french' or w/e, but lol phrases/one word/generally known french words will just be in french for. the aesthetic. merci beaucoup

Jean spends his days at USC and his nights in Evermore, sitting quietly as Jeremy works out at the gym, having breakfast, then passing the hours watching old games and continuing his critique. Page after page in Jeremy's notebook is filled with whatever he finds relevant in Jean's words, and then he uses the evenings to hone these words into coherent thought. On the third day, Jeremy enlists Jean's help in creating new drills for the Trojans, meant to correct the flaws Jean's found in the past games but also to increase their stamina and endurance when playing the game. Jeremy's put an all out ban on Raven drills and strategies, but he welcomes Jean's viewpoint on his ideas, willing to adjust them if Jean finds them lacking.

It is...unusual, as everything seems to be with the Trojans. Is it all this sunlight they get, making them more cooperative? Is it the endless blue sky, living four storeys off the ground, all the _colour_ that exists everywhere? Had Jean _ever_ attempted to collaborate with Riko like this, he'd get half a dozen knives in his back just to put him in his place. Captains weren't supposed to treat the rest of the team like they were equals - it's in the title, captains are _superior_ \- but here is Jeremy, valuing Jean's input, actively _requesting_ it... When Jean takes a moment to breathe and think about it, it almost bowls him over.

This is how they spend their days, interspersed with panic attacks triggered by various things that Jean can't seem to control - shut doors, the turn of a lock, even Jeremy's _alarm clock_. But it is the morning, when Jean wakes up, that the panic reaches unbearable levels.

Nightmares, at this point, are matter of fact for Jean. He's had them since he can remember moving into Evermore, and they only got worse the more Riko did to him. Since Jean's escape from the Nest, since Riko's death, his nightmares have taken a stranger turn - instead of recreating past tortures, it is always Riko, alive, punishing Jean for what he's done since Kengo's death. Renee appears with her knives, her gentle smile twisted into something awful; Kevin has broken fingers and a racquet in his right hand, ready to slam it down and break Jean's; and, worse, Jeremy Knox is there.

Riko, in these nightmares, saves this part for last, and so when Jean awakens to see Jeremy crouching by his bed whispering things like _You're safe, you're fine, you're at USC, LA,_ and worse, _I am Jeremy Knox and I won't hurt you,_ there is no sense of calmness, of returning to reality - only cold, vast terror that steals Jean's breath and rationality from him for minutes that feel like hours.

It always takes far too long to reconcile the real Jeremy saying _I won't hurt you_ with the one in Jean's mind's eye, and for that debilitating period there is no comfort to be found in the grounding nonsense Jeremy whispers to him.

On Friday, Jeremy takes him to explore Los Angeles.

"We should just go out and _do_ something," is Jeremy's reasoning as he pulls on a cap then twists it so it's facing backwards. Jean simply blinks as Jeremy says, "If you can't play exy, you still need to keep moving - and you need to get familiar with LA, too. It's a great city, man."

So Jean pulls on some dark jeans and a long-sleeved top and ignores the horrified look Jeremy sends him. Jeremy is, of course, decked out in a vest and shorts and a pair of trainers, with his cap and sunglasses and a backpack slung over his back. He looks ready to take on the world, as ever, and Jean judges himself in the mirror tacked to the inside of his wardrobe door and finds himself severely lacking. Glancing away to check Jeremy is suitably distracted by his phone, he presses a finger to his cheek, briefly obscuring the three that reminds him that he is simply property to be branded and used as the owner likes.

It had been one of the first things Riko had done to him. Had seen his fighting spirit, his desire to break free, his rage at being caged - and strapped him down so he couldn't fight back as the number three was inked into his skin.

"Shall we?" Jeremy calls, and there's a look in his eye when Jean turns round that means he saw what Jean was doing.

Jean shoulders past him and out the room, and within minutes they're in Jeremy's car and Jeremy is singing along to the obnoxiously poppy album playing. Though they drive to a restaurant, they don't eat there - Jeremy just parks the car and starts down the road, taking Jean on what he calls 'the tour of fame'. Jean can't find it in himself to pay any real attention to where they're going - he hasn't heard of any of the films that apparently shot in these locations, nor does he know the famous people who reportedly live near these parts. It only serves to remind him how cut off from everything he was in the Nest, how deprived he was of things that are considered normal by everyone else.

When he texts Renee about what they're doing, she advises him to ignore the tour, and consider it more as an exercise in his anxieties.

So Jean tries to not be anxious about it all. It's incredibly difficult, though, when there is nothing to signify that he is a Trojan, that he comes from USC. Only Jeremy's cap is red and gold, but it's the sort of thing that goes easily unnoticed. What's the point of attending such a high quality school if you don't establish yourself as part of its leading exy team? Where's the uniformity? Where's the _recognition_?

Not to say that neither of them are being recognised. As they wander, some people yell out their open car windows at them, or stare at them as they walk by. Some honk their horns, long and loud, and Jean has to fight the urge to dig his chin into his chest, wishing there was a way to hide the tattoo, or at least make people stop paying attention.

Neither of those are the worst things, though. It only happens with glimpses, small flashes out the corner of his eye - but eventually Jean cannot ignore the ocean pulsing in the horizon, churning up all sorts of feelings like horror and fear and nostalgia in his gut. He wants to swim, wants to stand with his feet in the water again, wants to feel it washing over him; but then he is reminded too viciously of waking up in the night, a soaking towel over his face, and in seconds he's shaking without meaning to, unable to tear his eyes away from the sea.

He misses it, he loathes it, he wants to be in it again, he wants it to never touch him.

And then Jeremy is there, blocking his view with curly blond hair and gold-amber-brown eyes. "Hey," he says quietly. "You with me?"

He is at Edgar Allen, awakening to Riko's maniacal laughter and Kevin's quiet, guilty apologies as he holds the towel over Jean's face. He is in Evermore, his wrists and ankles strapped down, gagging and choking and crying. He is in the Nest, and he cannot breathe.

" _Jean._ " Jeremy's still there, faintly, in the background. His voice is getting more intense. " _Jean Moreau_. You are _not_ at the Nest. You are in Los Angeles, California. It is the eleventh of May. I'm Jeremy Knox, and I won't hurt you."

Jeremy Knox, a little piece of the sun. Jean wonders if he knows the myth of Icarus, and figures it would do them both best not to reiterate it.

"J-Jeremy Knox," Jean says, gasping for breath, trying to focus on the man in front of him instead of the sea behind him. "Jeremy Knox, captain of the Trojans. Number one, striker." Blond, gold, tan. "Not Riko Moriyama."

Jeremy blinks, rapidly, brows creasing for a moment before he says, "No. Not Riko."

"Not Riko," Jean mumbles, more to himself than anything else. "Not Riko."

"I'm not Riko," Jeremy says again. "I won't hurt you."

Jean's jaw clenches and he crosses his arms, lets free a disbelieving scoff.

"Hey," Jeremy says, a little more intent this time. He captures Jean's eye again, and holds firm. "I mean it. I won't. I'm not Riko."

Genuine. Sincere. Honest. Jeremy means it, and Jean thinks Jeremy _believes_ he means it, and Jean wants to believe it too, more badly than he's wanted anything else in a long time - but he can't. He _can't_.

"Where next," he mutters, and Jeremy lets loose a small sigh before turning away and leading Jean from the view of the sea. He starts talking about some other great film that was shot in this location, but he's quickly realising Jean has no idea what he's on about. His eyes get the most peculiarly sad look.

"We should make a list," Jeremy says, "of all the amazing films you haven't seen, then we can watch them together and I can bring you back here and then you can _understand_."

"That's going to be a lot of films," Jean remarks drily, ignoring the way Jeremy gets the most heartbroken look on his face for a second.

Pushing his usual grin back on, Jeremy says, "It'll pass time! We'll start with Star Wars, then I guess the natural progression is Star _Trek_ , then... _Jurassic Park_."

Jean blinks vaguely, and Jeremy changes tactics: "Why don't I just show you _my_ favourite places in LA, huh?"

Which doesn't sound of immense interest either, and for the most part, it isn't: Jeremy takes him to a juice store, to a sports shop, to a video game store, to a clothes shop. Jeremy actually goes into the last one, meandering around before rifling through a group of shirts and pulling out his size.

He turns to Jean and says, "Shopping?"

_No_ , his instincts say. _Yes_ , Renee's text says.

_You've no choice_ , says the way Jeremy's already got a pale blue t-shirt in his hands, in Jean's size. For a second, Jean's about to dismiss it, but then Jeremy says, "You don't have to try it on." 

_You do have a choice_ , says the warmth in Jeremy's eyes, so he scowls and accepts the t-shirt, and almost every other t-shirt Jeremy shoves at him until he starts looking for clothes of his own. The shop's fairly big, and it takes Jeremy a while to peruse the entire mens' section, picking out everything from banana yellow denim shorts to ugly patterned polo shirts. When Jeremy turns to see what else Jean has picked up, which was another long-sleeved black shirt and black jeans, he immediately marches them both to the denim section and picks up more shorts for Jean.

_Shorts_.

Jeremy's faith in the world is truly unmatched. Regardless, Jean holds onto them, scowling the entire time, and even tries them on in the fitting room. They look awful, of course - his legs have lost most of their definition due to his injuries, and he's never looked as pale as he does now. He pulls them off hastily and instead tries on the jeans, which are neat and form-fitting and exactly the kind of thing he would've worn in the Nest, and he wonders what kind of person he is that that fact makes him feel better.

"Jean, hey, Jean!" calls Jeremy. "Tell me how these look?"

Worse than Jean's shorts, Jean decides as he tugs back the curtain and sees Jeremy standing outside his stall. He's wearing the yellow denim knee-length shorts, with a matching bright yellow t-shirt, and they actually _suit_ Jeremy.

"What the fuck," is all Jean says.

"Rude!" Jeremy bursts out. "But nice jeans, dude. Could ease up a little on the colour, though. You should try yellow."

Jean glares at the ridiculous grin Jeremy wears, the way he starts laughing at his own joke, and immediately steps back and yanks his stall curtain closed.

The rest of the clothes fit fine, although it feels unnatural, _wrong_ , to be wearing any colour besides black. He would've put the clothes back, but Jeremy finishes at the same time as him and shakes his head.

"I don't have any money," Jean says as Jeremy grabs the clothes from Jean's hands.

"We don't need money," Jeremy says, eyes glinting, "when we have _this_." He pulls the team card out his pocket, and laughs at the way Jean's eyes widen.

"You can't use the team card on _clothes_ ," Jean protests, but Jeremy shrugs.

"I'm captain, aren't I? I'm helping our newest recruit fit in more, that's all."

"That is _all_? Who is going to believe you bought those _épouvantable_ yellow shorts for me?"

Jeremy seems entirely too gleeful to answer, simply prancing through the racks of clothing to the payment area. He smiles as he dumps the clothes on the counter, though he does say, "Sorry for the mess," as the cashier starts sifting through them. The girl gives them a look, her eyes lingering too long on Jean's three and mouth almost scowling, but it's not till she's putting the clothes in the bags that she says something.

Looking at Jean, she says, "You're Jean Moreau, right? So you really are transferring to the Trojans, huh."

Jean nods, uncertain of what this woman wants him to say. He glances at Jeremy, who shrugs minutely, then back at the woman. She doesn't seem interested in a reply.

"How disappointing," she finally says with a sigh, as if this is a burden on _her_ more than anyone else. "The Ravens are an incredible team, and you _belong_ there - how could you transfer to the Trojans, knowing they're all subrate players? It's like the Ravens are falling apart - number one _dies_ , number two becomes a Fox and a queen, and now you're trying to be a _Trojan_. It's unbelievable."

"Let's not throw any rude words about-" Jeremy tries to say, but the cashier just levels a disgusted look at him as she packs their last bag.

"Oh, stuff the publicity stunt," she says. "Strip away your - obviously fake, by the way - show of good sportsmanship, and what do you have? A bunch of good players, sure, but what else? In the face of the Ravens, the Trojans are _nothing_."

"The Trojans are one of the top three teams in the country," Jean points out, his usual meanness stripped away by the shock of her previous words.

"If you're really a fan of Jean, you should support him whatever team he belongs on."

The girl scoffs, and shoves their bags at them. "Whatever, Trojan. So long as he's with you, I'm not interested - if you ever go back to the Ravens, though, I'll be cheering you on."

Jeremy grabs the bags, indicates for Jean to lead the way, and hurries the two of them out of there.

" _Unbelievable_ ," he repeats, voice hard. "You know what's unbelievable? Dropping a player you're _clearly_ a fan of just because he changes team! Raven fans are just so-!" He shakes his head, then glances to Jean. "I'm really sorry about that. I had no idea- if I'd known- _ugh_. It's just so unnecessary, you know?"

Jean shrugs.

"Why don't we- ugh, why don't we just go down to the beach? I don't want to do any more shopping."

"No," Jean says, loud and lightning-fast, and Jeremy pauses.

"Pardon?"

" _No_ ," Jean repeats, slower, looking away. "I do not want to go to the beach."

"Aw, come on, it's beautiful down there, the sand is lovely and it's just the right time-"

"I said _no!"_ Jean hisses in French. Jeremy may not understand the words, but he clearly gets the meaning.

"Sorry," he says after a moment, "for pushing. Hey, why don't we just...put our bags away. Go get some dinner. Yeah?"

"...Yes."

So they trawl back to where the car is parked and leave the bags in the boot, then enter the restaurant they're at and wait for a seat.

Jean doesn't know how to describe it, except for relentlessly... _American_. From the tacky linoleum floors to the sticky tables, the bright red plastic booths to the laminated menus, even the waitress' brightly coloured outfit... It all _screams_ distasteful. When they are seated at one of the booths, Jean can see that the menu isn't much better. There is nothing _resembling_ healthy, and even the more sugar-free dishes seem to be huge portions. At least in the Nest, every meal for made with an athlete's needs in mind - this is...horrifying.

"One of my favourite restaurants!" Jeremy chirps, because of _course_ it is. "The kind of thing Coach would kill me for eating, but we all have our guilty pleasures, don't we?"

Jean thinks of the way he can't help but glance at Jeremy when he's changing, and doesn't say anything.

"What do you think?"

Jean studies the awful menu, the dusty windows, the other patrons with their huge plates full of rubbish - and says, "It is terrible."

"Ahh, typical French person. Shall I pick a French restaurant next time we come here just for you?"

"You speak as though there will be a next time."

"We're teammates now, Jean - even you can't get out our LA trips."

"Most unfortunate for me."

Jeremy laughs, and Jean blinks at the bright sound and the way Jeremy's shaking his head, taking his cap off and running a hand through his curls.

Jean rips his eyes away before Jeremy realises he's staring.

"I'm going to have the burger special!" Jeremy announces, dropping his menu to the table and leaning back, folding his arms behind his head. Jean lets his gaze rest on his biceps for a mere _second_ before frowning at Jeremy.

"The amount of calories- the lack of protein-"

"Shh, shh, even though we're at USC we're still _technically_ on vacation, right? That means, technically, I can eat what I like. And I'm going to eat that disgusting burger and enjoy every second of it. What about you?"

There is nothing remotely appetising on the menu, but he's also starving from walking around so much today. He says, "A plain burger, no sides."

"And to drink?"

"...Water."

Jeremy rolls his eyes, but the smile playing on his lips makes it almost _fond_. It is most disconcerting, so Jean sits up a little straighter and crosses his arms, training his eyes outside.

The waitress seems to realise they're ready to order and trots up. Jeremy orders for both of them, smiling kindly at the waitress as she takes their menus, and for a second her gaze traces Jeremy's face, his chest, his arms, before she saunters off again.

Jeremy begins chattering within seconds, of course, mostly about how he can't wait for pre-season when he can show the team his new clothes, and how he misses them, and how he wants them all to come back here and eat shitty burgers and laze about in the sun.

"There's just something," Jeremy says, hands gesturing and eyes glittering, "about coming to a tacky restaurant with your best friends and eating gross food, making dumb jokes, getting drunk and lying around on the beach, you know? We can't do is often, obviously, but sometimes during pre-season, before we have to get serious about the games, we come down and fool around for a bit. LA at night is something else, Jean - I can't _wait_ to show you it."

"Tonight?" Jean asks, frowning.

"Oh, no, are you kidding me? We're watching Star Wars tonight. Maybe after a practise with Laila and Alvarez? We'll see how things pan out."

Jean asks quietly, "Are the team really your best friends?"

Jeremy's eyes simply _shine_. "Of _course_ ," he says, "of course. All of them, best friends. That's what makes our team good, you know? We all _like_ each other. We trust each other. We joke about and run around and watch films together. I honestly think that's what makes the Trojans a top-three team - we're _friends_."

Jean is thinking what Jeremy's deliberately not saying - that they are the complete opposite of the Ravens. Jeremy doesn't even know how far deep it runs.

"I see," Jean says, and chooses not to point out how much of a spanner in the works he will be.

"Hey, Jean," Jeremy says after a moment's quiet, looking at him with his soft golden gaze. "Will you let me take you to the beach sometime? Not any time soon. Not if you don't want to. Just...think about it?"

"I don't like going to the beach."

"How come? There are no beaches in West Virginia."

No, but beaches themselves aren't the problem. Jean can't tell Jeremy that, though - Jeremy may know Riko was a violent maniac, but he knows nothing of the real abuse Jean suffered. Instead, he thinks of Marseilles, and cliffs and white sand and blue, blue sea. "My parents and I... We used to go to the beach during summer, have ice cream and sit by the shore... Back when I was a child."

"Why did you stop going?"

Jean freezes, feeling like his heart, or maybe all his organs, have dropped through his stomach to his feet. Jeremy is staring, now, confused by Jean's reaction.

Before he can stop them, the words, "You don't know?" escape his mouth. It hurts to breathe - but why would Jeremy know? No one outside the Nest knows about Jean's circumstances.

"...Know what," Jeremy says at length, smile gone and eyes serious. When Jean stays silent, he says, a little more intensely, "Know what, Jean."

"That I..." It hurts to _speak_ , too, but now that Jean's brought it up he can't take it back. Renee says Jeremy is a good man, and everything Jean's seen of him agrees. He won't do anything with this information. "...That I am like Kevin."

"Like Kevin?" Jeremy repeats, and starts peering at his face as though he might suddenly start resembling Kevin and Kayleigh Day. "How?"

"I...was raised in the Nest," he says, quickly, quietly, as though maybe Jeremy won't hear them - he does, though, and his eyes widen and start colouring with concern. "Since I was eleven. That is why I am number three. My parents gave me to the Moriyamas to settle a debt."

Jeremy's face goes blank, though there is chaos whirring in his eyes. Slowly, he says, "Raised in the Nest..." More silence as he mulls this over more, and then, "I see."

Jean shrinks back in his seat, crosses his arms and ducks his head, body all wound up. That tone of voice isn't unfamiliar - there was a way Tetsuji would say _I see_ that was really just a warning for imminent pain - but though Jean waits, the hit doesn't come. When he glances up, Jeremy is still staring with strange sympathy and concern that terrifies Jean even more.

"This doesn't change anything," Jeremy finally says, eyes fixed on Jean's. He is so sincere that Jean can feel it ringing in his heart. "You are no longer at the Nest. You aren't a Raven." He cracks a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We'll make a Trojan of you yet, Jean."

And that's all. Jean waits and waits, and nothing happens, so he says, "How long will our food be?"

"Uh...five, ten minutes?" 

"Would you mind if I took a call?"

Jeremy shakes his head, so Jean stands carefully and forces himself out the restaurant, taking a seat on the half-wall that surrounds a patch of flowers and trees. He positions himself so he can still see Jeremy through the window, then dials up Renee.

_"Hello, Jean_ ," she says softly as ever. _"Is there a problem?"_

"I told Jeremy," he blurts out before he can help himself. He's breathing a little too fast, so he tries to focus on slowing that down as Renee replies.

_"Told Jeremy what?"_

"I...told him how long I spent at Evermore. I- made a mistake, forgot that he did not know. And now he knows..."

_"Jeremy won't judge you for it, you know. What did he say?"_

"That it does not change anything. That I will still be a Trojan... I do not think I can ever be a Trojan."

_"Now, now,"_ Renee scolds gently. _"You don't know that. Are you okay?"_

"Why would he still take me on, knowing this? Three years is bad enough, but ten? Renee..."

_"Stop worrying. Jeremy said it hasn't changed anything. You trust me, don't you?"_

"Of course."

_"Then believe me when I say Jeremy is a good man, and he is worth trusting, too."_

Jean breathes in deeply, then sighs. "I will consider it. I should go back - we are out having dinner."

_"Oh_ ," Renee says, and Jean does not like her sudden change in tone. _"Oh, well, if that's the case, you better get back. Talk to me soon, Jean. Take care of yourself."_

"Pah," Jean says. " _Au revoir_."

_"Goodbye."_

Jeremy is fiddling with his phone when Jean takes his seat again. He looks up, smiling brightly, and asks, "Call go okay?"

Jean nods, and Jeremy glances at his phone again before tucking it away. "I was just texting Laila, her and Alvarez are kicking about the city on their own, uh, _private vacation_ , if we want them to practise with us. I said we'd think about it, you know, once you've gotten used to being on the court again. Thought it might be good for you if you met a few of the team before meeting all of them in June."

Jean nods at the sensible idea - just _thinking_ about meeting twenty-seven new people in June makes him feel sick.

"Besides, I need guinea pigs for our new drills - need to see if they actually work, you know?"

"I thought you were trying them out yourself."

Jeremy grins. "Maybe I want to see them work a little harder, then. You'll consider it, won't you?"

"Yes," Jean says. "I need to see the nurse on Monday, then we shall see how I fare."

"Sounds like a plan," Jeremy says, "I'm really looking forward to- oh, yes, that one's mine. Yes, thank you. It looks great. Thanks."

The waitress beams at Jeremy, sets their plates before them, then gazes a little long at Jeremy before heading off again.

Jean eyes the dish placed before Jeremy with a delicately wrinkled nose - there are far too many fillings to make it a clean eat, and it's draped in half a dozen sauces. It even has mac and cheese. As a _side_.

Jean's own non-special burger is a lot more modest. Regardless, he removes the top bun, places his napkin over his lap, and sets about cutting the burger into pieces with his cutlery, raising one eyebrow when Jeremy stares.

"Dude," Jeremy finally says. "Did they not teach you how to eat burgers at Evermore?"

Jean only stares as Jeremy chomps into his burger, getting sauce all over his chin and not even all the fillings - as he pulls away, melted cheese stretches to his teeth until he breaks it with his finger.

Jean says, "Did they not teach _you_ how to eat with civility and dignity?"

Jeremy puts a hand over his mouth to cover his laughter, and Jean has to look away before the edges of his mouth turn up, too. _Childish_ , he thinks to himself. _Weak. Embarrassing. Undignified_.

But he sees Jeremy take another ridiculous bite, and can't help but be amused. He hides his reaction carefully, though, schooling his face to be blank as he carefully enjoys his meal in small bites. The burger itself is boring, not nearly as healthy as it should be. _Unrefined_ , he thinks, at least compared to what they were served in the Nest. He's starving, though, after so long walking around, so he eats in peace, and declines Jeremy's offer of chips when he's done.

After their main meal is concluded, Jeremy spends an obnoxiously long time analysing his dessert options, occasionally trying to convince Jean to pick something. Once it's clear Jean will have nothing extra, Jeremy orders a huge portion of ice cream, and, as a second thought, asks for two spoons. Jean frowns, as does the waitress, but she trots off and Jeremy starts going on about the values of ice cream.

Jean doesn't think much of it when it arrives - it's four scoops of cold sugary _mess_ , pink and white and brown - and he can only stare at the spoon Jeremy holds out.

"What," he says as Jeremy keeps staring expectantly.

"We're sharing!" he says brightly, as if the answer was obvious. "I can't eat all this myself, can I?"

Jean just saw him put away the entire burger special within seconds; he asks, "Can't you?"

Jeremy's face goes mock-offended, before he starts laughing and says, "Well, maybe, but I thought you might like some."

"I am a collegiate-level athlete intending to make the national team," Jean clearly enunciates, "not a child."

Jeremy sticks out his tongue, then scoops up some ice cream and upends it on his tongue so that Jean can clearly see the mess it makes.

"That is disgusting."

The tongue disappears back in Jeremy's mouth, though Jeremy still seems to be laughing as he goes for some more. "Just try a little," he finally says. "A few spoonfuls won't hurt."

"I haven't exercised properly in over a month," Jean replies. "I cannot indulge in childish sweets."

Jeremy, rapidly proving to be more obnoxious that Jean anticipated, loudly slurps up his next spoonful in reply.

And the next one. And the next one. Then he sticks his tongue out again and lets the ice cream drip onto his tongue (and the table). At one point he even holds the spoon differently so he can point it at himself and start making aeroplane noises.

It's all so ridiculous and childish that Jean is torn between disdain and horrible, actual _laughter_. He barely manages to clamp down a laugh as Jeremy says, "Here comes the aeroplane!" and promptly closes his lips over the spoon.

Out of fear that he actually _will_ laugh, and yes, that is the only reason, he grudgingly picks up the second spoon and has a little of the vanilla ice cream.

It's far too sugary, that much is obvious, and it melts very quickly, but it reminds him vaguely of summer in Marseilles, and it is for that reason, and that reason _only_ , that he continues.

Jeremy doesn't say anything aloud, but his smile conveys every bit of triumph and glee that he's obviously feeling.

It's only when all four scoops are gone and the bottom of the bowl is a gross mess of melted ice cream that Jeremy says, "So you liked it, then?"

Jean scowls at him, which only makes him laugh, and says, "If I never have it again I will be only too lucky."

That makes Jeremy snort, which is terribly unbecoming, then he flags down the waitress to ask for the bill. For a moment, there is silence - Jean doesn't want to look at Jeremy, but he can't help but notice the way Jeremy's gaze fall from Jean's eyes to his lips, and for a moment a terrible panic grips his heart-

Only for Jeremy to say, "You've, uh, still got some just-" He points towards the left of Jean's mouth, and he grabs at the napkin in his lap to dab it off, patting round his entire mouth just in case. His cheeks feel hideously flushed, and his stomach, once contentedly full, now feels sickeningly so. He crosses his arms across his chest and stares down at his sleeves, willing the colour to disappear from his cheeks.

He doesn't look up as Jeremy gets the bill and pays, and is only startled to do so when Jeremy goes, "Oh!" And then, "Oh, dear."

"Is there a problem," he mutters. Jeremy is staring at a piece of paper with raised brows, and then he twists round to glance at their waitress. She's serving another table, but the second she's free she smiles and mouths _call me_.

"She gave me her phone number," Jeremy says, despite it now being obvious. "I- uh, oh, dear."

Jean doesn't say anything, only raises his brows as Jeremy keeps looking at him.

After some useless worrying, Jeremy just says, "Why don't we go."

So they go, and Jeremy discreetly pops the note in a bin just outside the restaurant, where the waitress won't see. In the car, Jeremy puts on some more pop music, and it's awkwardly quiet until Jean finally gives in.

"Why didn't you want to call her."

"Oh, uh, that? Uh..." Jeremy blinks a few times and stares at the road, his cheeks growing a little more red. "Uh, it's just that, uh, hm..."

"If you're gay, I don't care."

"Oh! No, I'm not- I'm actually bi, so I _could've_ \- um..." Jeremy's cheeks are getting redder, and Jean is trying not to stare. "No, it's just that I'm...far too busy for a relationship right now. Being captain, you know, and with you transferring, and our new schedule..."

"It's summer. Training does not officially start for a month."

Jeremy finally admits, "I actually, uh... I've got my eye on someone else, is all. Not that the waitress wasn't sweet and lovely and cute, but- uh... The person I like is...cuter...?"

Jean blinks once, twice, then says, "Okay." It's not like he cares - he _doesn't_ \- it's just...bizarrely juvenile. Things like _crushes_ didn't exist in the Nest - you either wanted to fuck someone or you didn't. And if you did, you either _did_ fuck that person, or settled for someone else.

_(Or if you were Jean, you looked at people too long and got punished instead.)_

"You're not gonna...ask me who it is? Or uh, tell me to get with them already?"

Jean turns bored eyes on Jeremy and says, "I am offended you think I care that much."

That makes nervous laughter bubble out of Jeremy's mouth, and after that, the silence is a little more tolerable.

That evening, instead of watch old games, they watch some movie that Jeremy adores, about stars and wars and glowing not-swords. Jean doesn't particular care, although he does look up when Jeremy says things like _that's Luke he's gay_ and _that's Leia she's bi_ and _that's Han he shot first_. Jeremy says it like it's a joke, but it falls flat when Jean simply blinks at him and glances at his phone again. He's texting Renee, and she says he must be watching Star Wars.

"Man," Jeremy says finally. "Have you really not watched Star Wars? It's a classic."

"I have not watched a lot of things," Jean says, because it's true. "There were no shows or films available in the Nest."

Jeremy considers this, puts this together with how long Jean was in the Nest, and his gold eyes glint sadness. "Oh... Well, do you like it?"

Jean stares at the screen blankly for a moment, then says, "No."

Jeremy wilts, then says, "Well, you haven't seen the whole trilogy. You'll understand then. Why don't we- there's only, like, twenty minutes left. Stay till the end?"

_Stay till the end_ , Jean thinks. _Question mark_. It is the latter that makes Jean nod above anything else.

The ending is not much, Jean thinks. The gay one and the one who shot first get medals from the bi one, and then everyone is happy, and then the credits roll. Jean would perhaps have more criticisms if he'd paid attention to the movie. He spent most of the time texting Renee, and playing Snake on his phone.

"So?" Jeremy says, his voice too hopeful for something so trivial.

"So," Jean said, narrowly avoiding death, "I am about to beat my high score. Please leave me alone."

Jeremy glances at his phone, smiles, and disappears.

Jean dies anyway because the second Jeremy shuts the door he starts panicking, and has to dial Renee, who talks him down and asks to speak to Jeremy. Jean curls up on his bed as Jeremy sits cross-legged in the middle of his. He put the phone on speaker mode, so that Jean could listen in. Jean acts like he thinks it's stupid, but he's actually glad. He finds himself worrying, ridiculously, than Renee may be speaking ill of him when he can't hear her.

_"Hello, Jeremy."_

"Hi. Renee Walker, right? You're a goalie for the Foxes."

_"Yes. Not as well known as Andrew, but I don't mind. Now, I was just speaking to Jean there about his anxiety. I know you've spoken to Kevin, and I honestly don't know about this sort of thing as much as he does, but it's crucial you stay with Jean. Kevin says Raven pairs went everywhere together, and you know now that Jean was there more than three years."_

She pauses to let Jeremy speak, and he glances at Jean before saying, "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, it just- slipped my mind completely. We were having such a relaxed night that I..."

_"I understand. It seems strange to us, but Jean's lived half his life with someone always by his side. That's not easy to get over. Let him choose the limits. Don't let a wall or shut door come between you. You'll probably have to discuss boundaries between each other. Stay open-minded."_

"Of course, Renee. I apologise to you both" - he looks up at Jean for this - "for that. Jean and I will definitely talk about it when he wants to."

_"Sounds good to me. Feel free to call me or Kevin if you have any more questions. Kevin will know a lot more about what went on in the Nest than I will. Make sure you don't pry, though - if Kevin starts talking about personal things Jean never mentioned, ask him to stop. Hear about it from Jean or no one."_

"I will. Thanks, Renee - you're a real gem. Jean's lucky to have you."

_"Yes, Jean and I are good friends. What else did you two do today? Besides going out for dinner."_

Jeremy sneaks another glance at Jean, and Jean refuses to feel embarrassed by it. He focuses on his fingers, moving them from side to side as his scars catch the light.

"We wandered around some of LA, mostly. Got him some new clothes, that kind of thing."

_"Sounds fun. Inject any colour into his wardrobe?"_

"I managed a few muted blues."

Renee laughs, and though this whole conversation feels ridiculous, Jean's glad to hear it. _"Well, one shade at a time. I best be going, but good luck, and have fun. Call me whenever you need to, Jeremy."_

"I will. Uh, I'll pass you back to Jean and take you off speaker. Bye!" He clicks a button and tosses the phone to Jean, who catches it and presses it against his ear.

_"Bye, Jean. Don't be afraid to talk to Jeremy about things - boundaries really need to be established here. Okay?"_

" _Oui,_ Renee. Thank you for your help."

_"Of course."_ He can hear her smile. _"You know, just then it sounded like he thought we were dating. You haven't been saying anything, have you?"_

" _Mon dieu!_ " he says. "I am hanging up now. _Au revoir_ , Renee. Please do not bring that up again."

His embarrassment is worth her laughter ringing in his ear. "Goodbye, Jean, and goodnight. Sleep well."

Jean shakes his head and hangs up.

"She is a _lovely_ girl," Jeremy says with feeling. "You're lucky."

That again - emboldened a little by his talk with Renee, Jean asks, "Do you think Renee and I are dating?"

Jeremy's eyebrows shoot up his head, and he gapes for a second before spluttering, "Um, well, _I_ don't know- why are you asking _me_ that? Wouldn't, uh, wouldn't _you_ know if you and her are dating?"

Which doesn't make any sense - Jean tries to convey this with a tilt of his head and some narrowed eyes, but Jeremy just keeps looking at him, so he finally says, "Renee and I aren't dating. We are...not each others' type."

It takes a moment for this to get through Jeremy's head, but when it does, his eyes get very big and he just goes, "Ahh..." for a long enough moment that Jean starts playing Snake again. "Uh, I am sorry about before," he tacks on once he's got a hold of himself. "I didn't think - I'm sorry for causing you trouble."

Jean's amusement vanishes. He says, "It's fine." And then, with Renee's words in mind, he adds, "I do not like closed doors. But I." He pauses again, the words getting stuck on his throat. "I understand other people like privacy. Use the bathroom as you wish - I won't interfere. But. Consider leaving the door unlocked when you shower. Just so I- so I know you are not trying to keep me away." He refuses to face Jeremy through all this, knows that outside the Nest his demands seem unreasonable, bizarre, embarrassing. "I apologise for inconveniencing you."

"No, dude, it's totally okay," Jeremy says, voice bright enough that Jean almost believes it. "I'll unlock the door. There's curtains round the shower, so like, if you need to come in and just sit down, it's not like you'll see anything."

"That is...okay?"

"Yeah, I don't care. If you come in, we can practise singing duets together."

Jean blinks. It's no secret Jeremy sings in the shower - it is the only reason Jean doesn't tear his own fingers apart as he waits for him to return to the bedroom. It is a bizarre, secret comfort.

Jean says, "I will not sing with anyone."

"More of a soloist, huh? Well, aren't we all at heart."

At this, Jean simply turns away and begins changing. Jeremy trails him to the bathroom, where they brush their teeth together. Jeremy's toothbrush actually plays a song when it's being used, which is one of the strangest things Jean can think of, and when that is done, they return to the bedroom.

Jean makes sure he is already in bed and facing the wall when Jeremy takes his shirt off. Riko may not be here, but the ghost of him still sits on Jean's shoulder, daring him to make a misstep.

Jean will not misstep with this. It isn't worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag urself im the waitress hitting on jeremy and also jean being jealous abt it and also renee doing the eyes emoji and also jeremy being overwhelmingly concerned w jean's health n wellbeing :)
> 
> listen. it's 2001 !!! anything's possible !! tell me im not the only asshole who remembers singing toothbrushes. also like. i was 4 in 2001 so im not sure what the level of psychiatry would be available to jean?? like betsy exists but she seems one in a million and like ??? andrew was misdiagnosed and also institutionalised so idk if there's still lots of Shitty Stigma surrounding mental health back then but ?? im kind of. glazing over it so apologies if there r any issues there. same w like, gay stuff haha it's less of a problem for jean in terms of him growing up in the nest and therefore, to an extent, being sheltered from real world homophobia ? but instead he dealt w riko's. im just assuming jeremy's tribe/reservation were chill abt this sort of thing + la having a banging lgbt community that sort of helped jeremy's anxieties.
> 
> anyway !!! if u enjoyed it at all pls consider leaving a comment/kudos for my fragile writer's ego <3
> 
> as always hmu on my [cool blog!!](http://tyrellis.tumblr.com) cheers loves <3 :*


	3. old wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jean finally gets back to exy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hi hello. i got so caught up in making sure i got all the chats for mystic messenger that i forgot i had to post this. but i didn't forget! in fact today i woke up at 7am (hellish regardless of circumstance), got my ass ready, had a chat on mm, walked down to the train station, got the 3 hr train home, fucked around w my mother n sister in town, then returned to my actual house and now im here. after doing all the mm chats. um. telling u to watch the get down. that's the real purpose of me putting this chap out, it's to tell u all to watch the get down (2016) on netflix and then tell all ur friends to do so too.
> 
> jk that's not all. um. warnings: panic attacks ! um. brief ?? descriptions of scars, esp self-harm scars, also just continual references to past abuse/torture etc. as usual!! also more miss sofia, ive grown rather fond of her.
> 
> there r probs other things i should be saying but i...forget them all. enjoy ? leave a comment ? : ) and uh, watch the get down. have fun !

Jeremy starts leaving the bathroom door open when he showers. It means Jean doesn't have to get out of bed, or spend the morning panicking about it, which he is painfully grateful for. He hates feeling this way. Feeling like he needs to be catered to in the most bizarre ways because otherwise he'll just fucking fall apart. _Hates_ the way he can feel his heart hammering when Jeremy's not in his immediate line of sight, hates the way Jeremy shuts the door - doesn't even lock it! - when he uses the toilet. It's so stupid, so immature, so... _abnormal_.

Jean's not normal. Jean is fucking _weird_. It's not so bad for the other Ravens, but he still wonders how the hell they survive outside the Nest. Do they have as many panic attacks as he does? Does everything still look like a competition to them? Do they ever stop feeling sick and wrong when they wear any colour other than black?

Even though all those clothes were bought on Friday, Jean still hasn't been able to touch them. While Jeremy was busy in the shower, Jean had tried a few of them on again - a grey t-shirt that showed off all his cuts, an oversized red jumper which reminded him of how much muscle he's lost, a pair of blue jeans that made his legs look too long - before throwing them all to the side. Even trying them on had made him clench his fists, and squeeze his eyes shut, overcome by the most horrific urge to cry. Jean had changed back into his darker clothing and sat against the open door of the bathroom, forehead pressed against his knees. Jeremy mustn't have realised he was there, because the shower stopped and the curtain was yanked back and then he hissed something unintelligible and shut the curtain again.

Jeremy spends the whole weekend hyping up for Jean being cleared to play on Monday, whilst also trying to hold it back in case Jean _isn't_  cleared to play. He drags Jean into going over the drills they've made over and over again, even though they technically can't really do anything more with them until they're put into practise. It makes Jean nervous, because Jeremy is very clearly anxious to start playing with him properly, to assess him post-injuries, to check these drills and so on, and Jeremy expresses his anxiety by trying to be everywhere and do everything at once. It's _exhausting_.

On Monday, they go see Sofia again. Jeremy doesn't follow them up to the treatment room this time, just heads straight for the sofa and the Spanish soap operas, and leaves Jean to follow Sofia up the stairs.

"Now tell me," she says without preamble, "how you have been feeling. Are your injuries still causing you trouble? You have not tried to play exy, have you?"

Jean shakes his head.

"Good. Do you feel they are healing? No infections?"

"None." She stares expectantly, and he adds, "Nothing hurts anymore. Nothing has for a while."

Sofia simply frowns and crosses her arms. "That does not mean much coming from an ex-Raven," she says. "The bruising hasn't quite faded. You will have scars..." There are a few on his face - after Riko had stopped throwing punches, he'd carved a three into Jean's right cheekbone, just to reinforce it, then threatened to cut his whole face off, leaving a long, lean scar down the left side of his face, from his temple to his jawline. It is these the Sofia traces with her eyes now, the sharp lines of her mouth softened by the sadness in her eyes. Abruptly, she says, "I cannot imagine how the Foxes' nurse handles that team. I could not live with myself, seeing so much harm come to pass that I could not prevent." She purses her lips, then shakes her head. "Come. Shirt off."

So Jean removes his shirt, lets her assess his injuries. Eventually, he has to lie back as she takes out the last of his stitches and pats on some ointment, and when she is done she takes a step back and simply looks.

Jean is used to it. The Ravens stared all the time, and though Jeremy tries not to, Jean still catches him glancing at his scars when Jean changes. The ones Sofia is looking at, however, aren't one of the many decorating his chest - but instead his arms, where he is sitting with his hands clasped in his lap. He didn't mean to leave his inner forearms on show, but he supposes there's no point hiding them now she's already seen.

The worst part of them is not the fact that the cuts exist; but instead, that there is one vertical cut on each wrist, what looks like a suicide attempt but in reality was just Riko making a mockery of Jean's coping.

"Will you tell me, Jean," Sofia says, "how many stitches you had at Evermore."

Jean blinks, and asks, "Why do you want to know?"

"I seem to enjoy making myself sad about these things. Will you tell me? Do you know?"

_Yes_. Jean had counted, and when he hadn't been conscious for it, Kevin had done it instead. It was a...strange obsession, like if Jean could count the number of times Riko had hurt him maybe he could control it. He says, "Two hundred and sixty-six."

Sofia turns away, and Jean puts his top back on. "Can I play exy now?" he asks.

"Can you play exy..." Sofia sighs, and when she turns back to him her eyes are sadder than he can bear. "Yes, Jean, you can play exy. Be careful, though - no violence, no pushing yourself, for at least another week. You will come back again. If you are still fine, you do not need to return to me. Yes?"

"Yes." And then, "Thank you, Sofia."

" _En fin_ , go bother Jeremy now. He will be pleased you are ready to play again, no?"

Jean nods and slips off the table, hesitating at the door for a moment before she waves him out. Jeremy hops up when he sees him downstairs, ignoring his precious soap opera to ask, "Can you play yet?"

And Jean, in a move that would've cost him a good session with Riko's knife, simply draws out the silence, refusing to meet Jeremy's eye. Jeremy's face, of course, falls utterly; the excitement that had been radiating from his body drops to sullen disappointment. Jean waits until Jeremy is nodding and about to say something before he says, "Yes, I can play now."

"Oh, that's- wait, what? I thought-!" Jeremy shakes his head, but he's laughing, this time. "It's good to see the Ravens haven't totally drained you of humour. _God_. I really thought I'd have to wait another week."

Jeremy's cheer infects Jean, and as they wander out the house and to Jeremy's car, Jean feels something like happiness wash over him - not happiness specifically. Not even contentedness, not really. It's just nice, that he's finally returning to the sport he's made to play.

"Straight to the court, then? All your gear got delivered a few days back. I say we warm up a bit, do some laps, try out those drills..." Jeremy rubs his hands together as they get in the car, grinning ear-to-ear as they strap in and he turns it on. "This is going to be _great_. I've been waiting for this since you arrived. Oh man. And when you feel ready, we can play with Alvarez and Laila - maybe you can give Alvarez some tips as a backliner, oh _man_..."

"It's really not that exciting."

"Shut _up_ , you haven't played since, what, March? That was two months ago. I can't even imagine not playing for that long..."

"It was not exactly my choice," Jean snaps, and Jeremy glances at him quickly.

"Woah, man, that's not what I meant at all! I think it sucks that you've been messed up so long. I- I can't wait for us to practise together."

Jean rolls his eyes, and Jeremy, perhaps in anticipation of playing properly again, doesn't speak another word through the quick drive to the stadium. He parks in a space, as usual, hops out and locks the car after Jean, and then they both hurry along through the door, through the lounge and corridor, until they reach the locker room.

Jeremy beams as they approach locker number five, and says, "Are you ready? This is _so_ exciting."

"It's just a uniform."

"It's more than that. Do you still have the key?"

Jean's been carrying it in his pocket everywhere he goes. He has to dig down deep to get it, and when he does he finds himself hesitating as he raises his eyes to the shining metal five. This shouldn't belong to him. He should be number three - he _is_ number three - except not really. Not technically. He'd be number four, if the deal with Neil Josten - Nathaniel Wesninski, then - had gone through. Not even third best, in reality.

"You good?" Jeremy asks, and Jean glances at him for a second - sunshine grin, soft gold eyes, concern lingering in the tilt of his brows.

Jean opens the locker. Inside are home and away uniforms, armour, a helmet, several fitness outfits, all unbearably red and gold, all emblazoned with number five. It doesn't seem real. These belong to him? _This_ is who he is now? A Trojan, number five? Surely not... _Surely_ not.

"So you've got the usual, home, away, fitness gear for practises, all your armour... Your sticks are on the racks with the rest of ours. If you want to just change into your fitness stuff, we can just run around a bit before gearing up? Just to check you're really good to go?"

Jean shrugs, using the anchor of Jeremy's words to drag himself back to shore. He's here to get better, isn't he? Renee got him out of the Nest to get better. He can't keep breaking down every two seconds because he's not at the Nest, because he's not number three, because he's not wearing black.

They change quickly. Jeremy still casts an eye over Jean when his shirt's off, and Jean doesn't miss the recoil when he sees the state of Jean's back. He doesn't say anything, though, nor does he seem to notice Jean glancing over when he takes his own shirt off. It still feels dangerous, still feels risky, but Renee's voice is always in his ear saying, _Riko's not here anymore_ , now overlaid by Jeremy's _I'm not Riko, I won't hurt you_.

Jean doesn't believe either of those sentiments, not really, but the ghost of them are just enough.

"You know, Jean," Jeremy says when they are changed, and Jean is refusing to look at himself lest all the red and gold triggers something, "is changing with the others going to be a problem?"

Jean blinks. "A problem?"

"Just, uh... Like, aren't you self-conscious? Don't you want some privacy?"

_Oh_. Jeremy's trying to be _nice_ about his scars. Of course he is. "There was no privacy in the Nest," Jean answers, and Jeremy's shoulders sag a little. "I do not care."

"Well...alright. If you say so. I'll ask them not to say anything, but, um...some of them might not be able to hold back."

"Shall I explain to them in great detail how I received every single scar? I am sure you would all like to hear it." There is no way to hide the venom in Jean's words, though he crosses his arms and stares ahead. Jeremy starts a little next to him, and begins apologising, but Jean isn't in the mood for it. This new court, new uniform, new _everything_ \- and trying to repress it all - has put him in a vicious mood. Speaking over Jeremy, he says, "No, you want to know? I will tell you. There were no secrets in the Nest, not for me. This" - he taps the long scar on his face - "was the night of Kengo's death. Riko's father? He threatened to slice my face off. This was to remind me of my place." He gestures to the three. They are on the exy outer court now, and the bright lights illuminate everything Jeremy has pretended not to see. He runs his finger down the cuts very clearly shown on his arms. "These I did myself, obviously. This one was done by Riko. He was making fun of me, you know. Wanted to see how much I could bleed before I passed out. It was after we found out Kevin would play again, and Riko beat me for a while before deciding to play with his knives-"

" _Stop_ ," chokes out Jeremy, and Jean finally looks at him, mouth a hard thin line. Jeremy's eyes are fixed on Jean's upturned arms, hands reaching out like he wants to touch but not quite daring. His eyes are wet; his brows pulled. Jean thinks he's never seen someone so sad. "Stop, Jean, god. I- I'm _sorry_. I didn't mean to- I didn't _know_ \- you didn't have to tell me. You didn't have to, to prove a point or anything. I... _Jesus_. He really-" Jeremy stops, and sighs. "He really hurt you like that?"

Jean doesn't reply, because he doesn't need to.

Jeremy asks, "You really did this to yourself?"

Jean finally pulls his arms away. "Yes," he says, the word sharp. "It was the only thing I could control."

Without waiting for Jeremy's answer, he goes along the outer court until he finds the locked door where the sticks rack is kept. Jeremy follows after a moment, shoulders hunched and clearly trying to school his expression, and unlocks the door. "Your, uh... Your sticks are right here," he says, approaching the rack and pointing out the two heavy sticks doused in red and gold. "If you just leave it on the bench, once we're done warming up..."

Jean's decidedly not a fan of the subdued tone in Jeremy's voice, but it is Jean's fault, so he can't really complain. He didn't mean to say all that, didn't mean to say all those ugly things, but...the idea of the Trojans walking on eggshells around him is _humiliating_. He doesn't care if they see the scars, doesn't care if they say anything - they can't do anymore harm than Riko already did. Him being on the team is going to be enough of an issue without them acting like he's a bomb that'll go off at any second, even though he is.

He should probably apologise to Jeremy, but he doesn't know how. He picks up a racquet, turns it about in his hands for a moment to judge the weight and length of it, then drops it on the bench beside Jeremy's and nods.

They start with stretching and running: lap after lap after lap. Jeremy seems to love it, having done it daily, but it takes Jean just a moment to get back into his usual pace - a pace he realises, with some horror, isn't sustainable after the first few laps. He'd underestimated how much his rest had really cost him, but now he can't help but feel it everywhere. They stop running earlier than Jean thinks they should, and then they stretch out again and change into their armour.

As Jeremy sets up the drill, Jean pads to the centre of the court with his racquet, turning it about and practising his swings. The racquet feels harder to manoeuvre, more sturdier and more stubborn that Jean remembers, but he knows this is due to the muscle he's lost. He keeps turning it over and over in his hands and swinging it back and forth till his body remembers it, remembers what it's like to have the racquet as an extension of himself.

Someone calls out, "Think fast!" and he swivels to see a ball arcing across through the air towards him - he jumps, twists, steals it gracefully from the air and hurls it into one of the goals without thinking. He drops to his feet, and looks across the court to see Jeremy looking from the goal to him, eyes wide and mouth pulling from an awed gape to an ecstatic grin.

"Incredible!" Jeremy cheers, and Jean simply scoffs and joins him at the set up for the drills. " _Really_ , Jean, if you keep playing like that...!"

"If I made a turn that slow in the Nest Riko would've beat me so that next morning I would remember to go faster." Jean levels his gaze with Jeremy's more shocked one. "Your standards are deplorable."

A beat passes, and then, "Alright then! Really though, for someone who hasn't played in two months, who was dealt the injuries you were... It really is something. I mean, I know you're good, but to be _that_ good..."

"Yes," Jean says, when it becomes clear Jeremy won't say anymore. "I'm aware you've never had players of such high calibre on your team before."

The criticism rolls right off Jeremy's back. "Maybe not technically," he admits, "which is why it's so exciting to be working with you on these drills. Shall we try the passing one first? Since there's two of us, and I couldn't do it alone last week."

So they practise passing - nothing else, no catching off rebounds, nothing complicated - just back and forth, faster and faster, from farther and farther away. A simple drill, but Jean will not settle for anything but perfection. He wants crisp, clean, fast passes with expert precision, and that level of intense detail isn't something Jeremy's encountered before. He struggles with it, for a while - Jean admonishes him for being the slightest degree off - but his natural athleticism and his commitment to exy soon shines through.

"If your team are as slow to adjust," Jean drawls when they're done and Jeremy is wiping sweat from his forehead, "then I will be forced to skip practise. I do not think I could bear a repeat of that."

Jeremy only laughs, stretching his arms up and back. "Is this what every practise is going to be like? You on our asses all the time?"

"There would be no need if your team had some skill."

"Ah, but we have the power of _friendship_ , Jean! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Jeremy's still joking, his eyes as bright and open as his smile. Jean, ever aware that happiness, joy, laughter are not things he's allowed to hold onto, simply says, "No."

Sadness flickers in Jeremy's eyes before he says, "Well, we've got all year. And the year after that, too."

Two years. _Two years_ aren't nearly enough to reverse a decade of Raven conditioning - either Jeremy is being blindly optimistic or he's seriously underestimating the shit Jean went through. What, realistically, will two years do? Maybe he'll stop having panic attacks every five seconds? Unlikely. Kevin's a year and a half out the Nest and Jean knows he still has panic attacks all the time - he doesn't even deal with them in a _healthy_ way, the way Renee's encouraging Jean to deal with his. He just drinks. Which is looking increasingly attractive, except Jean knows extensive video evidence of him being drunk exists, and it's not particularly a state he likes being in.

It's nice to take the edge off. It's not nice when he's held down and made to drink half a bottle of something so that he black outs and only finds out what he did via footage off people's cameras. He doesn't know how Kevin willingly gets himself into that state, but he supposes that even though he said he was like Kevin, they weren't actually very similar. Kevin had certain privileges - those that came with being a pet, rather than mere property.

"Hey, Jean?"

He's been quiet too long.

"Onto the next one?"

Jeremy doesn't comment on it, though, just anchors him and pulls him back up to surface without even trying. _That_ is concerning, something he might have to discuss with Renee, but for now he's glad of it. He doesn't want to think of Kevin, and their tentative friendship, and the way Kevin made Jean distract Riko so he could run away without him. He doesn't know if he'll ever forgive Kevin.

But Kevin got him here, on this team, and maybe that counts for something.

The next exercise is about scoring. Jeremy tries to strike, Jean tries to block. It's a very classic drill, not exactly original, but Jean takes no prisoners and presses for more: speed, agility, efficiency, goals. Jeremy's clearly never trained quite like this, but he seems to thrive on it - were it not for his abrasively positive personality, he could've done well with the Ravens. Jean doesn't think Jeremy would ever want to hear that, though.

It's remarkably freeing to play exy again - some of his still-healing wounds twitch a little when he overexerts himself, and it is _painfully_ obvious how out of shape he is, but that doesn't stop him from being good at it. It takes Jeremy a terribly long time to get the ball past him, and it's mostly due to how worn out Jean is. Before his time out, Jean would've lasted _much_ longer.

Jeremy's tiring out, too. They haven't tackled any of the stamina drills, mostly because they'll be more effective when the entire team comes together. Still, though, they cover a number of the drills they came up with, halting sometimes to revise parts of them, to fix things that in practicality just don't work. This...exchange of ideas, this consideration of Jean's input, is so preposterous that it sort of leaves Jean dazed, but energised at the same time. He doesn't know what Jeremy's doing - if this is a game or if he wants Raven input or if this is, bizarrely, all genuine - but it actually makes Jean feel a little better about everything, and _that_  makes him suspicious.

At the end of their practise, Jean makes them go for more laps, even though he's dying on his feet.

"You wanted to improve your stamina, didn't you? Running helps. We will run."

"Jean," Jeremy says, standing with his hands on his knees, "I don't think I can walk right now. _Please_ just..."

"How about when your team comes back, I shall tell them all how their captain refused to run with me because a few silly drills tired him out?"

"You wouldn't."

" _Oui_ ," Jean says in his most bored voice. "How embarrassing for you, shown up by an ex-Raven who could not play for two months..."

At which point Jeremy starts dashing to the door to the outer court, and Jean falls into step beside him easily. They only manage two actual laps before Jeremy collapses onto the bench, and Jean is ashamed to say he isn't far behind. They sit their for five whole minutes, guzzling water and not speaking, before they even attempt cool-down stretches.

Jean is relieved that it is only Jeremy here with him; anyone else might laugh and threaten to tell others about their display of weakness. Jean may be suspicious of him, but he's far more wary of the rest.

Once they're able to drag themselves from the bench, they put away their racquets, leave their armour out to dry, and go have showers. No stalls, like what he saw in the Foxhole Court when Renee showed him around it; nor any black tile and red light like in the Nest. Jeremy seems to be making a concentrated effort not to stare at Jean's scars, but it's the first time he's ever been able to look at his legs properly, and Jean knows they're just as ugly as the rest of him.

Jeremy doesn't say anything; of course he doesn't. Eventually, Jeremy just shuts his eyes and starts humming as he washes himself down, and Jean indulges himself by glancing, a little frequently, at the broad shoulders beside him. It is a little different to look at his physique and know, fairly intimately, the power it possesses, now that he's not only played against Jeremy but _with_ him.

Of course Jeremy has to be in peak physical condition to captain one of the leading college exy teams in North America; and of course, in comparison, Jean looks absolutely shit in every manner possible. The sun has been kind to Jeremy, adoring, really - glowing bronze skin and smatterings of freckles, whereas as Jean and his too-white skin, his heaps of scars, looks practically sick beside him. As if Jean didn't have enough to be self-conscious about - as if Jean didn't have self-consciousness beat out of him in the Nest.

Still, it is a little hard to look at Jeremy, a practical Adonis, and not feel shitty about yourself; it is harder still to know Jeremy, at least superficially, and not be painfully aware how hostile, how ungracious, how _mean_ you are in comparison. It wasn't something to worry about in the Nest - no one cared if you were nice or not, so long as you played well - but Jean knows it's a necessary component of being a Trojan, and it only seeps deeper into his bones how unfit he is to be here.

They shower; they dry off; they change; and Jeremy goes into the archive to fetch games he doesn't keep himself and they sprawl out on one of the sofas in the lounge.

Well, Jeremy sprawls, of course, with his notebooks and sheets of paper spread over his lap and onto the coffee table; Jean sits at the other end, body tight but not hunched, watching over Jeremy and his haphazard writing with vague disinterest.

"Okay," Jeremy says, shuffling some stray bits of paper and looking up, "these have the revisions we made today, this has the drills we did today, these are all the drills we still haven't tried... You mentioned everything you thought was wrong with the drills on court?"

Jean nods.

Jeremy taps the paper with a pen. "Okay, because I wrote down everything I was thinking, too. You wanna look through these, pick a game, while I just write this stuff down all proper?"

So Jean takes the pile of tapes from Jeremy's side of the sofa and starts looking through them. Mostly of them are pretty recent - from the last three years, even. Jean finds himself isolating the Trojans versus Ravens game, then narrowing it down further until Jean finds the last game of his and Jeremy's first year, when all three of Riko's perfect court won their first championship against the Trojans. Jeremy's still copying down his notes into his notebook, so Jean gets up and switches the TV on before sliding the tape into the VHS player.

Jeremy looks up as it starts, then tilts his head, frowning a little. " _This_ game?" he asks. "Are you sure?"

"I thought it was a very impressive victory," Jean says lightly, "against _you_."

"Well," Jeremy says, grinning, "I wasn't captain yet."

"And regardless of you being captain...you have not yet won a championship."

"Well that's why you're here, isn't it? To turn our luck around?"

Jean says, "I do not think it will be that simple."

"Who needs simple - hey, look, we're coming out!"

The on-screen presenter continues announcing: _"Number four, Jasmine Bell, number five, Jeremy Knox-"_

"There's me!" Jeremy exclaims, pointing at himself on the screen. "Just a little first year at my first championship game!"

_Number five, Jeremy Knox_ , Jean thinks, and can't help but wonder what it means that that number now belongs to him.

"And the Ravens..." Jeremy says, and instantly, the crowd goes wild.

_"Number one, Riko Moriyama, number two, Kevin Day."_ The crowd are so loud and Riko is waving so much that Jean is almost missed: _"Number three, Jean Moreau."_

"And there you are," says Jeremy, eyeing the figure on screen with a bizarrely fond smile. "Wow, the crowd really loved you guys. I always forget how loud they get over Ravens."

"They always loved Riko and Kevin," Jean says as the captains shake hands and flip the coin. The Trojans will win; they will deal first. "They are- were-" Jean finds himself stumbling over Riko's death, and spits out, hands shaking, "the children of exy. Brought up in the public's eye."

"Yeah," Jeremy says, considering, "and you weren't."

On screen, the teams assume their starting positions - Jean takes the left backliner place. Jeremy Knox doesn't start. "It was too complicated to explain - I had not been there from the start, I wasn't the son of a Moriyama or a Day."

"They seem to love you anyway," Jeremy says, pen now dropped onto his notebook. He leans forward, squinting a little at the screen. "Look, you can see signs up for all three of you."

"They had to love me," Jean says, "although I do not think I made it easy for them. I lacked the press-training Riko and Kevin had received; I had not grown up the limelight. Besides, three is a crowd, isn't that right?"

"That _is_ how the saying goes," Jeremy agrees, though he sounds unconvinced. "But- I mean, I can see French flags being waved!"

"Japanese also," Jean says as the camera pans over the audience. "It is unimportant," he says after a moment. "I didn't care for the public's opinion."

Riko had, of course, but Jean doesn't tell Jeremy that, or the way Riko would cut into him if he did something too abrasive that the public didn't like.

They settle into watching the game after that, Jeremy sometimes tearing his eyes away to keep scribbling at the notebook. Quarter-way through the game he eventually sets it all to the side and sits cross-legged on the sofa, watching with interest.

Jean plays the first fifteen before he is subbed out. He returns as Jeremy subs on for one of the strikers with fifteen minutes left in the first half, positioning him directly opposite the Raven defensive dealer.

"Hey!" Jeremy says, pointing again as though Jean hasn't seen it. "I'm on! Oh, wow, you're...super good, even back then."

It's true - the other Trojan striker had been too bold, running and throwing the ball and catching it himself, and Jean had very easily stolen the ball and tossed it right down the court towards Riko. It's precise, of course - Riko catches, spins, and shoots into the goal.

On screen, Jeremy is visibly disappointed; on the sofa, Jeremy is practically bouncing up and down in his seat. " _Incredible_!" he says. "The Ravens have such perfect aim, and you three were all so in tune with each other! Just- _look_ at that!"

The Ravens' defensive dealer takes the ball from the Trojan goalie before throwing it back to their own, and the goalie smashes it down to where Kevin is speeding down the court. Just like Riko, he gets the ball, twists, and scores.

"God," Jeremy says, "I always forget how _good_ you all are. Look at us. We're sloppy in comparison."

"You certainly were," Jean says, watching as his on screen self meanders towards the defensive dealer to exchange a few words. They both glance at their marks a few times and return to their positions. Jean calls something in Japanese out to Riko, and he lifts a hand to acknowledge it.

"It should be illegal to use different languages on the court," Jeremy laments. "Neil and Kevin were speaking French at our match in March, and you three spoke Japanese - and you and Kevin spoke French, too, right?"

" _Oui_ ," Jean says, because he can. "I taught him in the Nest."

Jeremy wisely doesn't ask why that was necessary. He simply nods and mutters, " _So_ unfair, though. I only know, like, bits of Yowlumne, you know? No one else even knows it!"

"Is that an...Indian language?"

Jeremy rolls his eyes. "It is one of the reservation's tribe's dialects, yes. I don't know a lot of it - classes were optional, and I was busy going to the nearest exy court everyday or doing extracurriculars, you know?"

Jean doesn't know. His exy court was always right above him, and extracurriculars didn't exist when you were being honed as an exy champion.

"So you taught Kevin French, huh? That's cool." Apparently Jeremy _isn't_ as wise as Jean thought. "So Riko wouldn't know what you were saying, right?"

"Right," Jean says, hoping the ice in his tone wards Jeremy off.

It doesn't. "Can't imagine he was too pleased with that, though."

Clenching his jaw, Jean says, "He wasn't."

Jeremy glances at him, and finally shuts up about it. Instead, they carry on watching - the Ravens are leading, at the moment, and there's only five minutes left in the half. Jeremy tries desperately to break through the Raven defence, but he can't. It ends with another goal going to the Ravens.

"Brutal," Jeremy says, and then fast-forwards until the second half begins.

Neither of them start in this half - Kevin and Riko had taken fifteen minutes off in the first half, so they're starting, and Riko's facing the Trojan captain backliner.

Despite the desperation that's kicking in for the Trojans, none of them stoop to any violent checks or all-out brawls, thought the same can't be said for the Ravens. Riko grins as he checks the captain so hard he tumbles to the ground.

The points go back and forth for a while, with the Trojans working extra hard to score a few so that they pass the Ravens, switching their strikers off almost immediately once they do. As new strikers come on, the Ravens swap their backliners so that Jean's playing again.

This is where things go a little wrong. Not massively, not in general, not noticeable to most people - the new Trojan strikers are riding on the high of being ahead of the Ravens for one, and they're fresh to score. Jean's also fresh, thank god, but Riko and Kevin are flagging, albeit minutely. They're not scoring as much as before, and the Trojans are definitely pushing back against the Raven backliners. Jeremy's back on, too, this time marking Jean.

It is with ten minutes to go that it happens - they're drawing even, and Riko is clearly furious about it. Jean must be tired, because there's not as much force behind his checks and throws as usual - he checks Jeremy, and though he stumbles, he doesn't fall.

"Mean," Jeremy mumbles anyway, and Jean shrugs.

Yes, this is where it happens. The ball is tossed between the teams a bit, then Jeremy catches it, body wide open, and Jean...isn't fast enough, somehow. Doesn't check him in time, instead gets Jeremy's shoulder bumping into his chest as he races by, and by the time he's got his act together, Jeremy's thrown the ball to the other striker.

When they score, the look on Riko's face is murderous, and Jean suddenly, intensely remembers the way Riko had smacked his face in the changing rooms, jabbing his finger at the three and hissing _do you see that? Do you not know what that means? You are number three, but you were number thirty on the court today!_ He doesn't even speak Japanese, doesn't spare him from the other Ravens' cold and unforgiving stares.

Only Kevin's is a little apologetic, but Jean can see in his eyes that he agrees with Riko's assessment. Jean can see it clear as day - he always did. Even if he felt bad for Jean, felt that Riko was taking his punishment too seriously, he _always_ agreed with Riko's motives.

_Why_ the _hell_ did Jean think he could trust him?

"Jean? Hey, Jean. _Jean_."

The background buzzing stops. The voice - Jeremy Knox, his brain supplies - sharpens in the silence.

Jean's chest is heaving, his cheek still stings with how hard Riko hit him - he does it again, again, three times to remind Jean of his place. He says, _I will save the other twenty-seven for when we are back downstairs, yes?_ Kevin murmurs something in quiet Japanese to Riko, but Riko simply scoffs and continues changing.

_You are number three_ , Riko sneers. _That means you are third best. You cannot make such a mistake again._

It only cost them one goal. They still won. A two-point margin.

_It could've been three. It_ should've _been three._

How do I fix this?

_Remember your place. You are number three._

"I am number three," Jean says to appease Riko. "I am number three, I am third best. _Je suis... Je suis numéro.._."

"You are Jean Moreau," someone says, someone _distinctly_ not Riko. "You are at USC, Los Angeles, California. It is the fourteenth of May. You are not at the Nest. You are a Trojan backliner, number five. I'm Jeremy Knox, and I won't hurt you."

And yes, that is the golden sunshine that makes up Jeremy Knox, not the blood and thunderstorms of Riko Moriyama.

For extra measure, Jeremy adds, "Riko's dead, Jean. He can't hurt you anymore."

Can't he? Isn't that what this is, Riko hurting him from beyond the grave? Whenever Riko hit him, or cut him, or smothered his face and dripped water on him, he didn't do it just for the instant pain - Riko _lived_ for Jean's panic, for him flinching back, for the way he had to fight to keep himself together when something in public reminded him of a private pain.

Jean scoffs weakly, dragging his eyes back to the screen. It's on pause, and Riko is frozen on screen, turned to Jean, yelling. Jean is holding his racquet in both hands.

Jeremy is halfway up the court, arms in the air.

He hears Jeremy sigh, detects the sadness and worry in it, and ignores it.

"Shall we finish the game?"

"Jean-"

"Shall we?"

Jeremy unpauses the game. They both ignore the way Jean winces, on screen and off, when Riko shouts Japanese at him.

The moment if over within the minute, thought, and the next eight minutes are Riko getting two goals and Kevin one, and Jean and the other backliner preventing the strikers from touching the goal.

The game ends, they shake hands. The Ravens traipse into their side of the stadium, and Jeremy turns the TV off.

"That's enough for today," Jeremy says, closing his notebooks and bundling up the stray papers.

"It's barely three p.m.-"

"It's _enough_ ," Jeremy says, not a snap, but sharper than before. The words Jean planned to say fall back into his throat; he nods, folds his arms, and follows Jeremy out the stadium. The music feels too loud in the car without Jeremy's chatter accompanying it; the silence as they walk back to their room is even worse, though.

Jeremy goes to his desk. Jean curls up on his bed and texts Renee: _I am never going to get better._

Jean picks up a book as he waits for her reply. Something about history. He briefly wonders if he managed to steal one of Kevin's books before he remembers Renee buying him a few random things for the plane.

Her text, when it arrives, says, _What makes u think that? xx_

Besides the obvious? The answer's too big to contain in a message. For once, Jean doesn't have the energy even for Renee. He stares at the book, turning page after page mindlessly, even as more texts start to come in.

_Jean? xx_

_Jean, is something wrong? Do you need me to call? xx_

_You r going to get better, it just takes time. Please call me, Jean. xx_

But he doesn't, and he ignores it when she does, although Jeremy doesn't. He turns, raises his brow, and Jean stares at the book. After a second the ringing stops, only for Jeremy's phone to start going off. Jeremy moves to leave the room, hesitates, then stands in the living room at an angle where Jean can still see him but not hear him.

When Jeremy returns, mumbling a goodbye to Renee, Jean pretends to be asleep.

He also pretends not to hear the weary way Jeremy sighs, pretends he doesn't know he's the cause of it. Eventually, he really does fall asleep.

Unfortunately, his sleep, as always, is anything but peaceful. He wakes up screaming, with Jeremy crouched by the bed, and he doesn't fall asleep all night, too edgy, a prickle on the back of his neck like Riko's still watching.

Jeremy asks him to eat, or shower again, or go for a walk. Jeremy says, _maybe it'll help._

Jeremy is wrong. Nothing helps. Jean is impossible to fix.

That's how Riko wanted him to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway watch the get down dir. baz lurhmann (2016) today on netflix!
> 
> haha but rly. comments, i lov em ! also like. h8 to. actually ask for something but im keen to get a beta on this just so i can Kno What The Fuck Is Happening so. if anyway of u charming lads r interested, hmu @[my blog!](http://tyrellis.tumblr.com) lov ya, enjoys urselves, watch the get down then listen to the soundtrack on spotify/purchase it on itunes :)
> 
> next chap: laila and alvarez, Finally !!!


	4. knives and flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jean is in a terrible mood; it isn't very helpful when he meets laila and alvarez the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote the middle part 2~ weeks ago, wrote the first part friday night listening entirely to here comes a thought from su, and the last part....in the past 2 hrs, listening to idfc by blackbear on repeat !! cuz i ! have ! hella ! feelings for u !
> 
> anyway. it's 5am ? let me live. warnings: anxiety attack, panic attack, mention of past violent homophobia, long drawn out flashback w abuse, non-consensual drinking/drug abuse, flashbackception, sort of, reference to waterboarding, suggestions of rape, of abuse, of torture...... ? i think that's it ? maybe. there's also like...lots of missing/wanting/weird feelings abt past torture/touch etc so. idk. keep that in mind ?
> 
> this could've been out an hr earlier but i was watched strictly, judge me. i didn't realise it started last week so i had to catch up ? i still have to watch the 2nd show of the 1st week ??? life is #hard. also like if ur also watching it... greg rutherford holy shit ? ed balls Holy Shit ??? but mostly greg im. hmmmmm
> 
> alright well. watch the get down. enjoy. maybe. idek. im tired dude

The following week is not the bleakest of Jean's life, but it certainly tries to be. Which makes no sense, because he is no longer at Evermore nor under Riko's control, but that feeling lurks. It's heavy and black like the Nest itself, and it drapes itself round Jean's shoulders like a pile of chains. He doesn't understand - isn't he supposed to be happy? Isn't he free? Isn't he in California, where it feels like summer all year round, with Jeremy Knox, who is sunshine and holiness combined into one person? So why does he feel this way?

 

Sick, but without the nausea. Empty, like there's a gaping black hole slashed into his chest; but too sensitive, emotional, panicking at the tiniest thing, flinching back whole steps when Jeremy comes too close. He pushes himself too hard on their runs, at the gym, on the court; he is aching and sore, and it doesn't feel like _enough_.

He clings to his nightmares, where Riko hurts him and the world is black and normal. Being around Jeremy is disconcerting in so many ways: he doesn't shout at Jean enough, doesn't smile with any maliciousness, keeps setting up drills for them to practise so that he can continue to improve them. Keeps asking Jean's opinion. Keeps asking Jean _anything_ \- it's...hard.

Jean doesn't usually have an answer.

Renee doesn't call him any further, but she does text a few times - eventually, on the Thursday, Jean replies. She's mostly been saying good morning and night, telling him about her day in between. She also asks, _how r u doing?_ at the end of every text.

He doesn't know how else to put it than, _Everything feels wrong_.

Wrong, off, too bright, too much. Jeremy veers from giving him space to continually telling him it's okay if he wants to talk. He _doesn't_. He doesn't want to talk. He wants to play exy. He wants...to see Riko again.

Riko is dead. It doesn't feel like it, and Jean doesn't feel like himself. He follows their routine: runs, showers, eats, gyms, practises, practises, practises, eats...sleeps.

Whatever amiability between him and Jeremy seems to dissipate with the onset of Jean's mood; Jean can't ever muster more than a few words to Jeremy in reply to whatever he says. He is listless, distracted. He only ever pays attention during practice, and too often he burns himself out.

Jeremy's answer to this is simple: _"Jeremy, what the in the seven hells, it's like, twelve noon."_

"Alvarez!" Jeremy exclaims, beaming at Jean with bright eyes. It is indeed noon, and the two of them are sitting at the kitchen counter for lunch. Jean's intermittently texting Renee - she's trying to make him feel better, but he still doesn't know how. He distracts himself from her words by listening to the conversation Jeremy's got on loudspeaker. "My favourite backliner. Get Laila and put your phone on speaker. _I_ have an invitation."

" _I've already_ got _Laila,"_ Alvarez says, and Jeremy rolls his eyes - they can both hear the smirk in her voice. _"And what invitation? This isn't another Star Wars marathon, is it? That was fun the first time, but-"_

_"It wasn't fun the first time,"_ another female voice says, _"or any of the times after that. Hey, Jeremy. How's the new kid?"_

Part of Jean's mood is a _detachment_ to everything around him; he merely blinks when he realises Laila means _him_.

Jeremy keeps smiling kindly at him though, raising a hand like it's okay. "Hey, Laila. Having fun with your girlfriend?"

_"She's exhausting me,"_ Laila says, the same way Alvarez had said _I've already got her_. Jean scrunches his nose a little as Jeremy just shakes his head. _"There's a reason we're sleeping past twelve noon, you know."_

_"Nice way to avoid the question, though, captain. How is he? I hear Ravens are traumatised as hell."_

_"Alvarez!"_

" _Alvarez_ ," Jeremy sighs alongside Laila. He glances up at Jean for a moment, who stares blankly back. "He's doing really well. He's a great player - I mean, _incredible_ beyond belief - and I think he'll be a real asset to the team. I was actually calling to invite you guys over tomorrow - practise a bit, go over some new drills, maybe watch some films? Maybe some French ones, you know, I feel like we haven't explored foreign cinema in enough depth-"

_"New drills?"_ Laila says with interest.

_"French films? That's sweet, Jeremy, but I am_ Por-tu-gue-sa _, not French- unless, oh, is it for the little French Raven?"_

"Hey, Alvarez, lay off on the name-calling, alright? He has a name. But yes, I thought we should watch some French films for him. Is that an issue?"

_"I love foreign films,"_ says Laila, and Jean doesn't miss the way Jeremy presses his hands together like he's in prayer for a brief second. _"And yes, we're free for tomorrow. Tell us about these new drills."_

"Well, I thought I should take advantage of Jean being around, get some new perspective. After our game with the Foxes, I figured we really needed to step it up a notch, so we've been watching old games and he's been telling me ways we can improve. I wrote it all down, thought about it for a bit, and we came up with some drills."

" _Team bonding already,"_ Alvarez says. _"Sure, we'll be there. What time? If you say any earlier that twelve noon then I just won't show up, by the way."_

_"Me either."_

Jeremy laughs, says, "Nah, I figured a one p.m. start. Time enough for lunch beforehand, yeah? But be here for one so we can get kitted out and go over these new drills. Jean and I have been running a few of them, but we can't check out any of the goalie drills, or ones meant for more than two people, you know?"

" _Sure, sure,"_ Alvarez says boredly. _"Are these drills going to exhaust me as much as the Foxes game did?"_

"I hope so."

_"Excellent,"_ she says, and they both hear the grin in her voice. _"I've been waiting for a challenge."_

_"As have I,"_ says Laila. _"Is that all, Jeremy? Alvarez and I have...activities we need to get back to."_

"Yeah," Jeremy says, shaking his head at Jean. "I figured. Just be here for one, bring some snacks for the film, and, uh, use protection."

Alvarez snorts disgustingly as Laila says, _"I'm telling the whole team you said that. Bye, Jeremy."_

_"Bye Captain Safety!"_

"Bye assholes," Jeremy says, and flips his phone shut. Despite his words, his eyes are glittering with fondness. "'Captain Safety', that's a new one. And Laila really will tell the whole team I said that. You'd think I'd watch what I say around her, but apparently not."

Jean nods vaguely, his mind still stuck on things like _Ravens are traumatised as hell, little French Raven, I thought I should take advantage of Jean being around._

Jeremy thinks he should take advantage of Jean, and Jeremy never lies. Jeremy is a genuine, honest man, and he was being both when he said that.

_He didn't mean it that way,_ Renee reasons in his head _. He was talking about your athletic ability, your technical knowledge. He hasn't tried anything._

Hasn't tried anything, no, but thought about it? Jeremy stares, sometimes, and whilst Jean's guilty of the same thing it _feels_ different. What's the point of staring without touching? Is it going to happen soon? Is Jeremy going to try something soon?

_He isn't,_ Renee says, but already the thought has already wormed its way into Jean's head.

_He will_ , Jean thinks, the memory of Riko's twisted and delighted smile on the forefront of his mind. _He wants to. He will._

He will, Jean knows, so why doesn't he care more? He does and doesn't care, but the part that cares, that is _scared,_ feels very far away right now. Jeremy _will_ take advantage, and then everything will be normal again, right? Jeremy isn't _that_ good a person. No one is.

"Hey," Jeremy says, and Jean's head snaps up to meet his eyes. Pure sunshine golden. How is that possible? How is it that Jean's unable to trust something so inherently good? Alvarez was right, clearly. "Did what they say bother you? Alvarez can be a little...rude, sometimes, but it's her way of showing she cares. Or is at least interested, you know? She's still a Trojan." Jean stares, and Jeremy sighs. "Honestly, she just said all that because I've been refusing all their invitations the past two weeks. I mean, it's not great fun third-wheeling them at the best of times, but with you around... I told her I'd be out of commission, that I'd be busy. She's just mad at me, not you."

Bringing up one of her comments about being traumatised would be smart; instead, Jean says, "You want to take advantage of me."

He watches disinterestedly as Jeremy's smile drops suddenly, brows twisting, eyes dulling with confusion. He doesn't quite understand why Jeremy is reacting this way; he is merely recalling facts.

"Jean, I..." Jeremy's voice has taken on a tone Jean hasn't quite heard before - something with horror at its core, with utter disbelief. "I meant... I didn't mean... You thought...? I would never- _Jean_." He gets back some of his strength and says, "Jean, I would _never_ take advantage of- you, or, or whatever you think I meant. I meant- I was only talking about exy. You're a champion player, your technical knowledge far surpasses that of anyone else on our team- Jean, _believe_ me when I say that is _all_ I meant."

When Jean looks up, Jeremy is bent forward, staring with intent, honest eyes. His phone is clutched is both his hands, his thumb rubbing compulsively up and down the edge. Looking at him really is like looking into the sun - Jean can't meet his gaze but, once caught, is equally unable to look away.

Jean rubs at his own hands and says, "Okay."

"Believe me, Jean," Jeremy says, desperation now tinging his voice. Alvarez wasn't wrong, and clearly Jeremy can see it, too. "Don't you believe me?"

And Jean stares, and stares, thinking that's answer enough, but minutes pass and Jeremy doesn't move and Jean finally says, "No."

Jeremy's face falls, and his breathing goes heavy, then fast, and then Jeremy Knox is having an anxiety attack.

It doesn't last long. A minute, maybe two. It hadn't occurred to Jean that his own fucked up-ness might actually affect others, and certainly not _Jeremy Knox_ of all people.

"Jeremy," he says after a moment, struck both by how Jeremy has these problems too and his sudden inability to help even though Jeremy's done this for him dozens of times already. Jean doesn't think finding a bottle of vodka like he used to do for Kevin will cut it. Jeremy's breath is still stopping and starting, and so Jean shakily reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing very, very lightly. " _Jeremy_. Breathe."

And he does, and then he apologises immediately, eyes trailing to the hand on his shoulder. Jean steals it away instantly, of course. "Sorry," he says breathily, "I'm so sorry. Just the... The idea that you think I might be- capable of that, I just... Jean, I wouldn't. I would _never_. You... I... Jesus."

"I..." Jean doesn't know what to say, and far away part of himself is recoiling in horror that a chink in Jeremy's armour has been revealed - and that it is something like _this_ , of all things.

Jeremy is now red-cheeked, a hand on his chest and the other gripping his phone as he calms down. Despite his lingering distress, though, he says, "I'm sorry about that. I get, um, nervous, a lot. I didn't mean to freak out."

"It's..." Detachment means a painful lack of empathy. Jean _knows_ what Jeremy is feeling right now, but somehow he can't bring himself to care. "I get it," he says, and it feels woefully inadequate. "There is no need to, _euh_ , apologise..."

"You sure? I kind of sprung this, uh, _thing_ on you. I probably should've told you I have issues like that, too, but it felt... I don't know. Nothing, in comparison. I didn't think it'd be a big deal."

"Some warning would have been nice, but there is a lot going on."

"Yeah," Jeremy breathes out, relief colouring his words. "Yeah, you know, I didn't think it'd be an issue, but- I don't know, hearing all that? That you... _genuinely_ believe I'm capable of _anything_ like that? It's just- kind of frightening, you know? That's the exact _antithesis_ of what I want to be."

"...If it helps," Jean says, "you do not seem capable of that sort of thing. It is just... I don't know, I cannot... I can't help but think..."

"I know," Jeremy says. "You really should try talking to our counsellor. They help with things like that."

"Renee also tried to makes me speak to theirs. I will not do it. I will not- I cannot tell them all that happened."

"What else could _possibly_ -?" Jeremy begins to ask, but stops himself before he gets an answer. "You know what, don't tell me. Besides, you don't have to tell them anything. You choose what happens."

Jean scoffs. "That has not been true in a long time. I won't do it, Jeremy. You can't make me."

"And I won't. But the option's always open."

\--

Jean spends the rest of his evening thinking about that. About the option always being open, about Jeremy not making him do it. Is he lying? Tricking Jean into trusting him, just to make the hurt excruciatingly worse? It would be out of character; Jean knows this. Everybody knows Jeremy as a pinnacle of goodness, kindness, charity. So why can't Jean trust him? What the hell is _wrong_ with him?

_Don't tell me_ , Jeremy said, and Jean doesn't plan to. He's revealed too much already; partially due to nerves, more often due to anger, or maybe fear. Jeremy's too _nice_ ; the other shoe has to drop soon. Maybe if Jean's mean to him, if he lashes out and is rude, the shoe will drop faster and Jean doesn't have to linger in this disgusting, all-consuming _fear_ as he waits.

He keeps trying to talk himself out of it; tries to convince himself that Jeremy is the good man Renee, even _Kevin_ say he is. Looks at all those photos he keeps, with family and friends and all sorts; looks at the trophies, looks at the star-print duvet covers...but he can't make himself do it. He can like Jeremy, can certainly find Jeremy _attractive_ , but he can't trust him.

The rest of the evening is fairly awkward; they're both too deep in thought to attempt conversation, and the silence is only truly broken up by Jeremy's singing toothbrush. Jean sleeps till about four a.m., when he is woken from the type of nightmare that won't allow you back to sleep. Jeremy goes back to bed, but Jean reads a history book in the bathroom till Jeremy rises and makes them breakfast.

They are both counting down till one p.m., going through their routines with a strange jitteriness. Now that Jean knows of Jeremy's anxiety, it's much easier to see: the slight shake in his hand when he holds the frying pan during breakfast; his over-chattiness about things neither of them care about; how he puts his t-shirt on inside out.

Jean rather bluntly points it out and ignores the flush on Jeremy's cheeks, and then they set off for the court. Barely a minute passes before a big truck pulls up, blaring pop music, and after the music cuts two girls pop out the doors, grinning and waving. One of them, dark-skinned with messy, green-ended hair, hurls herself at Jeremy before wrapping all limbs around him.

"Captain Safety!" she croons, arms wound tight around his neck. "I can finally gaze into your golden eyes and know I am safe in this _nojento_ world!"

"Hey, Alvarez. I missed you, too." Jeremy grins at Jean from around Alvarez's head. He rolls his eyes, but it's fond, and Jean tightens his arms over his chest a little.

" _Oh capitão, meu capitão_ ," she sighs, and finally disengages. "I can't believe you volunteered to come here a month early to look after a little Raven."

Jean scowls. He would love to make some comment about it being the reverse, that Alvarez is the short one, but the fact is she is a scant inch shorter than him; even Laila is just under six foot, it becomes clear as she approaches once she's locked the door - Jeremy, in fact, is the shortest one present.

"Jean Moreau?" she says, waving at Jeremy without looking at him. "It's lovely to meet you now that you're part of our team. I'm Laila Dermott, the starting goalkeeper for the Trojans. Alvarez and I have heard a _lot_ about you." She slides a meaningful look to Jeremy. "You're an excellent player; we're all excited to see how you perform with us." A moment passes, then she says, "Apologies for Alvarez. She has...issues with the Ravens."

"Tch, _issues_ \- every fucking person-"

" _Alvarez_ ," Laila says sharply, then wraps an arm round her waist and tugs her towards her.

"Jean's a Trojan now, anyway," Jeremy says. "Hey, Laila. You're looking great."

"Of course I am. Alvarez and I have had a very...active vacation, haven't we?"

"Ha. That's one word." Alvarez casts a critical eye up and down Jean's frame, then says, "You look thinner than when we played each other last. How long were you out of commission? You must've lost some muscle."

"Thank you for reminding me."

"Welcome." She sticks out her hand, her fingers long and calloused when Jean meets her halfway. "I'm Alvarez. Laila's my girlfriend, so no touching, no looking, no anything."

Jean blinks, then shrugs.

"He's gay, asshole," says Laila, reaching out as well to shake Jean's hand. Noting Jean's raised brows, she just says, "Hey, me too. Jeremy and Alvarez are both bi, we go out to gay bars with a few of the team sometimes. You should come with."

When Jean glances at Jeremy, he's just sharing a shaken look with Alvarez. He says, a little uncertainly, "We're supposed to start at one."

It's five to; they've wasted five minutes standing around already.

"Alright!" Jeremy says, "Let's go change, alright? Alright. Laila, Alvarez, you can...go to the ladies' changing room. Try not to make out for ten minutes again."

" _Again_ ," Alvarez repeats, following Jeremy into the stadium. "Okay, it happened, what, twice? Maybe?"

"It happened eight times," Laila says, a dreamy smile on her soft lips. "Remember, the fifth time none of the girls would come in to get us so Jeremy had to?"

"I think I was a little busy with something _else_ to notice..." Alvarez curls her arm round Laila's waist and, even behind the two girls, Jean still hears Jeremy's resigned sigh.

"At least wait to make out till you're in the changing rooms..."

"Don't tell me what to do, Knox," is all Alvarez says, before she falls dramatically back against the changing room door, hooking her hands in Laila's pockets as it starts opening. "See you boys in a while."

With that, she pulls Laila into the room and they disappear. Jeremy stares at the shut door for a second, before shaking his head and going to the boys' one.

"Sorry about those two," he says amiably. "Alvarez is a real handful, though usually Laila can contain her. They're being more couple-y than usual, though - which is really saying something - so just. I don't know. Don't look?"

"I already told you," Jean says as he starts changing out. "I don't care."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry about Laila - I didn't realise she'd out you like that."

"Out me?" Jean repeats, and turns to look at Jeremy, whose head is caught in his shirt. He keeps staring through the five seconds it takes for Jeremy to wrestle out his shirt, and only tilts his head when Jeremy, messy-haired, finally looks back. "I already told you."

"Told me? When?"

Jean feels his gaze get a little disbelieving. "After the diner? When we were in the city all day? I told you Renee and I were not each other's type."

"You did? You... _did_. Oh my god." Jeremy looks away, cheeks going faintly pink as he shakes his head. "Oh my god, I didn't even _realise_... I thought, like, I don't know...you meant personalities or something. I didn't hope- uh, _think_ , I didn't think you'd be... Oh man, that's embarrassing. And Laila could tell _instantly_... I am so sorry, dude. That's so embarrassing."

"It is fine," Jean says, wondering if Jeremy will start catching on when Jean's gaze lingers a little too long. "I don't- it wasn't much of a secret, before. There is no need for it to be now."

"Really?" Jeremy says. "I guess I thought Riko would care."

Jean drops his gaze to the ground, and keeps changing. "He... As long as I did nothing public, he... It wasn't... I..."

"So your whole team knew? Were they cool about it? Did anyone else come out?"

"It is...difficult to explain what it was like in the Nest. It didn't matter because...dating wasn't allowed. No one...defined that sort of thing; if you wanted to fuck someone of the same gender, it was understood because...it was a way of getting the frustration out. Yes?"

"I...think I understand."

"Good." And then, because apparently he can't stop himself with this sort of thing, he adds roughly, "I do not want to talk about this again."

"About- you being gay?"

"That is fine. With the Ravens- I, uh...."

"No, hey, I get it. It's fine. Sorry for prying. It's just...so nice to meet another out guy, you know? When I came out, a bunch of the guys really ribbed me for it."

"Oh," Jean says, and wonders what type of guy would have to hate non-straight people so much he'd beat up genuine ray of sunshine Jeremy Knox.

"Don't worry; Laila did them in. She went through the same thing, she, uh...really inspired me. She's a great girl."

"Yeah. Your vice?"

"Oh, absolutely. The second I saw her reel Alvarez in I just knew she'd make a great captain one day."

"Yes," Jean says, thinking of the way Laila doesn't smile as much as Jeremy but still emanates a warmth that says, _Come sit with me, let's talk, you're safe now_. Alvarez is far jumpier in comparison, and Jean wonders how it is that those two fell in together. "Far better at keeping people in line than you, I assume."

"You haven't even seen me captain the team yet!"

"I have seen you on court, is that not enough?"

"You know it isn't. Come on, I'm ready, let's go. I'll show you how I captain my team."

"All three of them?" Jean asks, changed as well and following Jeremy out the door. "I don't think that qualifies as a team under ERC regulations."

"Hilarious. My ability to keep Alvarez in line even slightly should mean something, shouldn't it?"

"Not to me." Jeremy rolls his eyes, but Jean can't help but imagine the kind of punishment Alvarez would bear for speaking to Riko the same way she does to Jeremy. Then again, that would be only if her personality survived the initial hazing of the Nest.

But even Jean submitted eventually.

" _Olá_ ," calls Alvarez gleefully when they reach the outer court. Her and Laila are sandwiched together on the bench, unarmoured and slightly rumpled, but both are smiling. Alvarez's is a big, pleased grin, whilst Laila's is close-mouthed and more fond. "And you were telling us not to be late - you don't indulge in any locker room liplocks, too, Jeremy?"

"That's not very captainly," Jeremy says, but it takes him a second or so to say it and his cheeks go a little pink, and Alvarez simply turns a smug look on Laila before standing.

"Drills?" she asks.

"Laps," Jeremy replies. "At _least_ five. Last one at the bench sets up the drills."

That's Jean, of course, because he wears himself out too fast and he's not as strong as he used to be, at all, but Jeremy sets the drills up with him anyway. The girls stand to the side, armouring up and asking questions about what they'll be doing without commenting on Jeremy ignoring his own order.

Once they get going, they _really_ get going - it's refreshing to interact with two whole new people, to analyse how they play, their on-court conduct, their drive to win and improve. It's the desire to improve that, again, catches Jean a little off-balance - more than once Laila halts the drills to add her own input, to make them more challenging or adapt them a little for her own position. It's fascinating, on so many levels - speaking back to the captain? Discussing such ideas with the captain? Calling the shots despite not being the captain? Jean knows instantly why Jeremy chose her as his vice, and it has a lot less to do with Alvarez than Jeremy had implied.

Alvarez is interesting, too - her energy's a lot more fast-paced and intense than Laila's and Jeremy's. She attacks, despite playing a defensive position. She isn't violent, or rough, but she wants to win and therefore she wants to get better, so every two seconds she's at Jean's side, demanding tips or expressing confusion about how he so easily executed a move that she finds impossible to do herself. It is strange, and Jean isn't quite sure how to explain everything, but Alvarez won't stop hounding him for answers, and the more she desires to know, the easier it is to discuss. Exy, at least, always came easy to Jean.

One drill only requires one of each position, and so Jeremy asks Jean to sit this one out and watch them all so he can see how they're doing. It's the first time Jean gets to see the teamwork between the three of them without actively participating in it, and it's...astonishing, at least to Jean. Easy, but in a different way from the Ravens' easy - the Ravens were all about control, about such finely-honed technique that it was impossible to miss catches or throw poorly - and the Trojans don't have that. They rely, above all, on the kind of communication that stems only from dear, unconditional friendship. It helps that Alvarez and Laila are quite enamoured with each other, although sometimes they'll start joking around and get too involved in each other, and Jeremy will only grin and roll his eyes and say, _back to work, girls._

What Jean discovers, however, is that Alvarez and Laila trust Jeremy implicitly. It shines in their eyes when they look to him for guidance; when they pass between each other or when Laila blocks Jeremy's attempt on goal; the way they come together every now and again, laughing and referencing in-jokes and patting each others' shoulders, backs, heads. Such familiarity, such _love_. It bowls Jean over. He can't help but compare it to the Ravens, as he does everything; not a single Raven trusted Riko. Knew, of course, that he'd perform excellently on court, but they didn't _trust_ him for a second. Too volatile, too maniacal, too fixated on glory and winning his father's favour. Riko never hurt any of them, but the atmosphere of the Nest made it impossible to not resent him.

Him, and Kevin, and Jean. At least they still saw Riko and Kevin as kings, though - easy to hate, but great nonetheless. They never granted Jean that kindness.

"Technically," he says when the three finally finish the drill and turn to him expectantly, "you're all sloppy. Laila's the sharpest of you all, but she wastes too much time on movement. Alvarez is too jumpy. Jeremy is slow."

" _Slow_ -!" Jeremy begins to squawk, but Jean quashes his words with a single look.

"Yes, _slow_ \- or did you not play against Neil Josten in March?" Jeremy grumbles, but concedes the point. "We will have to work on your aiming accuracy, your footwork, your speed - since you refuse to use Raven drills, I suppose these will have to do."

"Forgive us for not wanting to invite the devil himself onto our court," Alvarez says, crossing her arms. "The investigation into Evermore is ongoing, you know - I have _read_ some of the things that went on there, and I, personally, don't want anything to do with it."

"None of us do," Laila says, her voice smooth if not a little stern.

"Which is why we banned Raven drills!" Jeremy chirps, glancing at the girls before focusing his gaze on Jean again. "Anything else?"

"I thought I would explain in detail when practise is over. However," Jean says, and pauses for a moment. The other three are all watching him curiously, and for a moment Jean hates it, _violently_ , the way they want his opinion, act like they _care_ for it - Jean can't comprehend it, and his mind blanks and he wonders, again, when he will wake up from this fairytale dream. How is this real? How is he here?

"Jean?" Jeremy asks, taking a half-step forward. "What is it?"

Jean drags his eyes back up to Jeremy's. The concern in his golden eyes are the furthest thing from Riko that could exist - and yet...

"However," Jean finally says, "your friendship and communication are your best strengths. If you up your technical game, it is very possible that you could be...unbeatable."

How it hurts to say that word, the one that had once so easily applied to the Ravens. If feels like blasphemy to speak it, but the way Jeremy's eyes light up and his frown transforms into a fantastic smile can only come from an angel itself.

"That's what I love to hear," Jeremy says, rubbing his hands together. "I can't wait till you see the whole team in action - we're gonna blow your mind!"

"I doubt that," Jean replies drily, but his tone could never dampen Jeremy's spirits. He simply starts setting up for the next drill, calling out commands and requesting help like it's easy as breathing.

Maybe it is. Maybe Jeremy's never been afraid of leading, or asking for help. Maybe Jeremy's never been afraid of anything-

Except Jean remembers the fear that had dulled Jeremy's eyes when Jean had compared him to Riko, and knows that Jeremy is not as bulletproof as he appears. Jean wonders if he could one day give off that impression, too, instead of some broken, traumatised ex-Raven who scares too easily. He knows that's how people see him. They're not exactly wrong.

The next drill - and the last, it turns out - requires a striker and a backliner, and though Jeremy is their only striker, he absolutely refuses to join in.

"I _need_ to see this," he says, backing up a little towards the door to the outer court, where Laila is heading. "I'm captain, there are some things _I_ need to see - Jean, you said yourself this drill was made for me to watch, right?"

"I...did."

"Settled! See you on the flipside."

Except he makes it three steps towards the door before sprinting back and checking that Jean's good to play as a striker. He is, of course - a good one, at that. Nothing special, and not as good as Jeremy when his physique is so poor, but still good.

"One on one!" Alvarez calls once they're alone on the court, tossing an exy ball up and catching it again and again. It is a vaguely threatening move, Jean thinks, and Alvarez is not like her captain or her girlfriend - the energy she emanates is a frenzied nervousness, with an intense determination to _win_ that reminds Jean, very slightly, of Riko and Kevin.

The drill itself is, essentially, a Raven drill with a little extra, but Jeremy doesn't need to know that. Neil had been familiar with it at the Nest, Jean recalls, and that itself had been mildly, if not _strangely_ , distressing. There are cones laid out, and Alvarez will call out which ones for him to hit and whether or not he should get them on a rebound. At the end of the row he will try for the goal and Alvarez will do whatever she can to prevent him from striking.

It won't be hard for her, he thinks initially, but he hits every cone, knocking them over so hard they skid across the court, and he makes every single goal.

Alvarez is being too hesitant in her checks, Jeremy realises after the fifth go. They've swapped about a few times, even though Alvarez is far poorer a striker than Jean, but even on her turns Jean has managed to shut down the goal. She's getting frustrated. She's thinking, _he's been out two months and he's still beating me_. She resents him because he was a Raven.

She stops hesitating.

Alvarez is, of course, a backliner - with her height and the build such a position demands, she and Jean are fairly matched. If anything, she has the advantage, if only because she's in peak physical, and, frankly, _mental_ , condition. Had Jean not been bedridden two months, had he not suffered the injuries he did, he would've been able to outmanoeuvre her easily - would've out-stepped her and taken the ball and moved on.

But he isn't, and when he goes to catch a rebound close to the wall, he doesn't move quick enough, and she checks him so hard he is slammed against the plexiglass, her arm digging into his chest and her face, far, _far_ too close, wild and snarling behind the helmet.

_Wrong, wrong, wrong,_ this is all _wrong_. Is he not in California? Was he not supposed to be safe? But he has spent the last two weeks waiting for the other shoe to drop, and here it is, in the shape of a snarling girl whose grin is a pale imitation of Riko's, but an imitation nonetheless.

Sometimes at the Nest, Riko would let the girls have him the way Hades might throw a piece of meat to Cerberus. They weren't allowed to touch him the same way the boys were, but he let them poke at Jean's face and his body and his bruises. It was the girls that chose what drinks he would get smashed on, who chose what drugs would be best to inject him with, and who took the photos and videos of him whilst he was inebriated. They stood at the side and laughed like hyenas, and Riko and the boys would tease and mock Jean whilst he was all out of sorts.

Alvarez is close enough that there is no difference between her and those girls, between her smile and Riko's.

Jean, predictably, panics. It's a nice break up in the past monotony of the week, he thinks very vaguely as the fear seizes his mind from him.

Before she pulls away to steal the ball, Alvarez murmurs, "Got you now, _Raven_ ," and that hammers the last nail in Jean's coffin.

As the world spins and fades, as flashbacks of things he can't properly remember burn behind his eyes, he can hear, "Alvarez, what did you _say_ to him?" ring through the court, the sound of exy racquets hitting the floor, and very loud, very frantic breathing.

The last one's him, of course.

The last thing he hears before the world goes completely dark and dizzy is: "No, don't _touch_ him!"

\--

When Jean was a little boy growing up in France, his parents would take him to the beach and sit with him in the sun, take him paddling in the ocean, or pick up shells along the shore. His mother liked big bodily hugs, pulling him close and murmuring silly nicknames into his hair. His father was less tactile, touch usually coming in the form of hands on shoulders, ruffling his hair, holding him back.

As Jean grew older, the more he resented them, finding them childish, _embarrassing_. Once he was in the Nest, he spent many nights curled up in his bed, regret and shame drilling hole after hole into his already-messy, twisted up heart. By then, touch had a very different connotation: pain, and fear, and disgust.

A different kind of horror didn't become associated with touch until a few years later.

There is no _love_ in the Nest; there are no friends, no parent figures, no guides. Jean grew touch-starved and simultaneously hated the slightest brush of skin against his.

Eventually, his fucked-up brain told him that being bashed around by Riko was essentially the same as a hug, right? No one else would touch him otherwise, except Kevin, but that was too brief, too clinical.

When Jean turned sixteen, all the shame that came with _wanting_ Riko's touch increased a hundredfold, except now it was with a different boy each year. What those boys did to him... Jean's never had such complicated feelings about anything in his _life_. He hated it, he _hated_ it every single _fucking_ time - and yet...

There is comfort, for a scant second, when Alvarez is pressing up against him and smirking, before it is all drowned out by absolute terror. Then there is a hand on his shoulder, and his back is against the wall, or the floor, and water is being flung on his face and he is waking up, though from what he cannot recall.

" _Look_ at him!" someone shrieks, the room moves with the uproar in laughter.

Jean cannot breathe. The world is fuzzy and blurred at the edges, and he cannot tell where he is or what he's done the past few hours. All he knows is that there is water in his face, dripping into his mouth, and he is vividly recalling one of the times Riko waterboarded him, and he _cannot breathe_.

"If only the other teams could see him like this," another voice scorns. "They wouldn't be so impressed with him them."

Their words go in one ear and out the other; he cannot focus on them, on what they're implying. He struggles upright, but the hand on his shoulder _pushes_ and he hits the ground with a crack.

"Hey, Jean. _Jean_." That's Riko, and Jean tries to turn his head towards him, but he doesn't _know_ where anything _is_. " _Look_ at me," Riko orders, and Jean blinks his eyes open and finds Riko standing before him, arms crossed and grinning. "What're you doing down there, Jean?"

"What's happening?" Jean asks, words slurred and _wrong_ , somehow. "Where am I?"

A storm crosses Riko's face. In his shadow, Kevin is shaking his head. "In _English_ , asshole."

"I don't understand," Jean tries again, but English isn't _working_ right now, and Riko is only getting angrier. "Please, I-"

"That's better," Riko says, but the storm still lingers in his eyes. "Beg, Jean."

_For what?_ He doesn't _understand_ \- the last thing he remembers is them winning a game against the USC Trojans. What happened between then and now? Why can't he remember? Why is he thinking so _slowly_? Why is he... Why...

The lights are dark, they're always dark, but they're strobing, and the music is loud, that's why it's so hard to _hear_ what Riko is saying... The Ravens are celebrating.

Jean knows what that means. Jean understands now.

"Wait," he says, desperate, suddenly, unable to hide it with _whatever_ 's running through his veins at the moment. "Wait, don't, I, I-"

" _English_ , Jean!" Riko hisses. "You aren't in France anymore! You are in the _Nest_. You belong to _me_ now."

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Jean babbles, but Riko isn't liking it and Kevin keeps shaking his _fucking_ head because the only thing he knows how to be is a useless fucking _lapdog_. Jean tries to concentrate, tries to speak _English_ , but the drink or the drugs are messing with his brain and all he can feel is the fear pounding his heart. Riko is taking a step closer, again and again, waving a hand so whoever's hold Jean down lets go.

Jean gets onto his elbows, too scared to sit up fully. He doesn't know what Riko _wants_ right now - that's the problem. Jean doesn't know _anything_ at the moment - everything's too jumbled up in his head.

"Try _again_ ," Riko snarls.

"I'm _sorry_ ," Jean says. "Please, I'll do _anything_ -"

Riko's hand goes to his sleeve, and then something is long and shiny and glinting in the darkness.

"One more word, Jean. Say _sorry_. Say _please_."

Jean _focuses_ ; separates the French from the English, the wrong from the right, and says, in English, "I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_ , please, please don't- please don't hurt me, Riko, _please_."

"He did as you asked," Kevin murmurs. "Leave him alone. _Look_ at him."

Riko glances at Kevin, then stares back at Jean, tilting his head a little and examining him.

And then; "No," and Riko takes two strides and plunges the knife in Jean's shoulder. 

\--

The next time Jean opens his eyes, he is against the plexiglass wall of the Trojans' court, and Jeremy Knox is crouched before him, eyes serious and sad and he is saying, "I'm Jeremy Knox, and I won't hurt you."

But the memory of Riko's knife in Jean's shoulder is startlingly fresh, and though Jeremy holds his words out like a flower between them, Jean can't help but look for the knife between the petals. There's no way something is just  _that good_.

There's just no way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, writing this: what the fuck am i doing  
> u, reading this: what...the fuck is she doing.....
> 
> mmmm ok so i lov alvarez !! lov her !!!! but she's A Lot and jean's in a Bad Place. dw they'll be pals. A Lso laila didn't like. purposefully try to out jean ! jeremy told her the convo they had at/after the diner's almost Word For Word (except the Private bits u kno) so She could tell what jean meant even tho jeremy couldn't lolol
> 
> watch the get down dir baz lurhmann 2016 on netflix now ! and listen to idfc by blackbear it's mad relatable. also hayley kiyoko's ep citrine is out !! if ur wlw it's Mad Relatable !! if ur not ummm listen to it anyway n support lgbt artists. uhm. again if anyone wants to beta anything or even just chat abt these lads ! do hmu at [my blog ](http://www.tyrellis.tumblr.com), my url is just tyrellis if the link doesn't work !
> 
> other than that. un beta'd and. like. the last part is barely proofread im So Sorry but i want to keep to this schedule !!! it's been less than a month ! uh. yeah so sorry abt that also pls comment, i lov comments, let me kno if this is going Well or just sort of uh. hm. u kno. thanks. lov it. gnight fam.
> 
> EDIT: i edited it. that's all, rly. i just fixed spelling mistakes haha dw ALSO i forgot to mention but imo alvarez is half portuguese half puerto-riccan ! she only knows portuguese tho. alsoo laila is black ! ALSO they're both tall af bc IM tall af ! if it helps they're both still shorter than me. drag me.


	5. come together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> weeks pass; pre-season has to start eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi its been 5 months but the fact that im updating this at all after such a long time is a Genuine Miracle, i apologise for making u all wait but hope u understand life is....messy !! and busy. so! at long last. if it helps there's more laila and alvarez and Hints of other teammates, and by hints i mean.......lots of names.
> 
> tw mostly for a big anxiety attack and just....Depression but not rly much outside that i think?
> 
> so uh yeah sorry abt the wait ik it's been a bit ridiculous ;; but ;; so r a lot of things lately. hopefully u all enjoy this! id rly like to thank [my new beta camilla](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethefoxes) for reading over this, getting all the mistakes i missed, and generally making this more readable! <333 and as always, feedback is Lov

Jean doesn't remember much the rest of the day. It simply flits by and Jean cannot grasp ahold of it, like it is snow in the air that melts when he touches it. The time passes; Jean is fairly apathetic.

Jeremy sits with him for half an hour once he is finally brought out the panic attack, he knows. Doesn't know, however, how long he was  _ in _ the attack, because Jean doesn't really care to ask. Jeremy and Alvarez have an argument when they're back in Trojan Hall, and they have to take it outside because Laila keeps looking at Jean during it and frowning. They watch a French film, something Jean can vaguely remember his mother enjoying, and Alvarez complains because they never watch Portuguese films. They get an Indian takeaway. The other three hug when the girls have to leave.

Jean considers texting Renee, and does not. He spends that night not particularly aware of anything, except for a moment of unadulterated  _ panic _ that hits him when Alvarez gets a little too in his face as she leaves, and he thinks and thinks about it until he can't think at all. He is painfully blank and void of most human feelings for these hours, only eats when the others do, only speaking in short, clipped sentences, and only going to the bedroom when he realises Jeremy is about to leave the room.

It sticks. The days pass at an alarming rate; the girls visit almost daily, sometimes persuading Jeremy into letting the four of them go to town for dinner or light shopping. Jean sees Miss Sofia once more, and she declares that the week of exy practice hasn't caused any problems and that he may continue.

The panic attacks don't stop, nor Jeremy's suggestions to visit their counsellor. He doesn't.

Spring blooms fully around them, though it seems to Jean that California, or at least LA, exists in a perpetual state of summer - trees and flowers grow with wild abandon, the sun rises high in the sky and the air is always warm, and any breeze passing by is soft and refreshing. It is a far cry from life locked up in West Virginia.  _ Everything _ is a far cry from that life: he has spent so long fighting and suffering and sacrificing for mere survival, and now he's allowed simply to exist...and he doesn't know what to do with it.

The girls visit; it feels like a very tense affair each time, although that's probably just him. Alvarez and Laila are as loved up as always, although sometimes Alvarez will smooch Jeremy on his cheek or forehead, and Laila will draw him close and let him lay his head on her chest. It's a little strange, Jean supposes - Jeremy is their captain, and something about him, his sunny disposition, perhaps, or his winning smile, amplifies his presence so strongly that it doesn't matter than the girls and Jean are inches taller than him. When he talks, people look and they  _ listen _ .

Jean is over six feet tall, and in the Nest he had been granted no such privilege.

It would be too much, Jean thinks, if Jeremy were as tall as them. It's better that he's shorter, that he's  _ grounded _ in a way the rest of them are not. He need only hold out his palm and pull them back to earth.

Though Jean may be barely aware of time passing, he's not too far in the clouds to see that Jeremy's getting more anxious, too. His chatter is always too short or too rambly, his form too still or too shaky. He spends hours watching matches on the television, making notes, rewriting his notes, ordering those notes into something coherent. He goes over the drills he and Jean made again and again, refining them every day in practise with Alvarez and Laila's help. Jean glances over his shoulder once to see him writing a list of pros and cons of the players on their exy team.

Not terribly unusual, except Jeremy's list is made up of things like  _ innovative but too nervous to speak up _ ,  _ kind-hearted but overzealous _ ,  _ too sarcastic for people to understand but impressively instinctual _ .

As if an exy team is made up purely of personality and good heart, rather than technique and practice and natural athleticism. Jean wonders what his would consist of:  _ good instincts and invested, but too quiet, too angry, too moody, not a team player, not easy to get along with, panics too easily, triggered by almost anything _ .

Jean would never have been considered for the Trojans, even if he'd had the chance; he doesn't have the spirit of them. He knows that, and the girls know that, and  _ surely _ Jeremy knows that, yet they all ignore it (except Alvarez, on occasion) and pretend like he really is one of them.

He isn't. Not a Trojan, and now, not even a Raven either, not really. He's applied their knowledge to Trojan drills; he's a traitor. And while he could have fit in there, he was never a Fox at all. Jean is the square peg Jeremy is trying to hammer into the hole on the Trojan team; smooth over the edges, chip away at all the bad parts, and maybe he might fit, but Jean's not sure what would be left of him. When he arrived at the Nest, Riko hammered all the fight, all his anger, all his  _ emotion _ out of him, so what else of him is there left to get rid of? Is there anything at all?

Jean is the only piece that doesn't fit. Everything else is wrapped up very neatly indeed. The Foxes won and Nathaniel Wesninski is safe; Riko is dead and the Ravens are being investigated; even Kevin Day is able to play with both hands in his championship-winning team, with his father by his side and his girlfriend never more than a phone call away.

Jean has none of these things; no romantic interest, no parental figure, no team that adores and works well with him. He doesn't even have stable mental health; doesn't even have peak  _ physical _ health.

The more time passes, the more disengaged from reality he is; barely anchored by exy and the routine way Jeremy pulls him out of panic attacks. It isn't enough, and Jean doesn't know how to stop himself slipping; moreover, he doesn't  _ care _ enough to figure it out. The current of time pulls him along through life, but he's going to crash eventually. He just doesn't know how.

\--

One day, Jeremy is up even before Jean is, which is something of a miracle, because Jean can be awake any time from two to four a.m. due to hideous nightmares. He awakens a little more casually than usual; bolting upright, panting heavily, stuck in the dream before it fades and Jeremy is in front of him, hand twitching as he calms Jean down.

His bed is made, his clothes for the day laid out, and his desk has been cleared up a little, which is  _ highly _ unusual, but Jean can only drop back onto the bed, roll onto his side, and watch as Jeremy frantically straightens out a corner of his duvet before pacing to the the windows and asking, "Can I open the curtains now?"

Jean blinks at the alarm clock, which reads 03:30 in disconnected, neon red, and says, "It's three thirty a.m.."

"Yes, but we're both awake, so we should open the curtains, right?"

"Wrong," Jean says, and Jeremy sneaks a peek outside - still dark, thank heavens - before leaving the windowside and disappearing momentarily into the bathroom. Jean hears a loud gasp, and then Jeremy's back in the bedroom, looking horrified with himself.

"I'm so  _ sorry _ ," he says, hands jerking in and out of fists. "I forget- oh, Jean, I'm so sorry, I-"

"It's fine," Jean says, and Jeremy throws himself back onto his bed in relief, before jumping up and righting the duvet again. He goes to his desk, rifling through one of his notebooks, then checks over a corkboard covered in team-related things, then back, then grabs a pen and starts writing on an errant piece of paper.

Jean's annoyance at Jeremy's incessant scuttling around wins out over his lack of interest. He asks, "What the fuck, Jeremy."

"Mm? Oh, I just- noticed something, you know, um, and I thought, well, if I write it down I won't forget it, and, uh...yeah!" There is, in fact, a small pile of different sheets of paper, some ripped, others lightly coloured, still more simply post-it notes, all held under a paperweight that Jeremy lifts to drop the paper he just wrote on under.

"Not what I meant."

"Oh, it is early, isn't? Three thirty, you said? Well, I woke up today... Well, I didn't get much sleep. So much energy! I might go for a run - will you join me? We should run together more often, I think it'd do us both a world of good-"

" _ Three thirty _ ," Jean enunciates. "That's very fucking early. Which means it's very fucking dark outside. I don't like to fucking run when it's fucking dark outside, Jeremy. Go back to bed."

Jeremy's lashes flutter wildly as he struggles to choose which part of this all to address, then finally says, "I can't sleep."

Which is very much in Jean's area of expertise, and frankly, he's not going to get to sleep again either. "Why not?"

"I'm a little nervous, can you tell? And the  _ energy _ , I can just feel my heart racing... Would you come with me to the gym, if not for a run, then?"

"... _ No _ . Do some sit ups if you must."

"Sit ups!" Jeremy repeats, his face lighting up. "Excellent idea." He whips off his pyjama shirt and grabs a gym one off his bed, then sets himself up so his feet touch the wall and starts doing sit ups.

Jean doesn't count, but Jeremy well passes a hundred sit ups, and then he starts doing press ups, and then planking, and then all sorts of mat exercises, and eventually Jean just...drifts off. Not to sleep, exactly, because he can still hear Jeremy changing position and the soft grunts that accompany him pushing himself, but into another world where Jean can sort of daydream as he likes. He mostly thinks about exy, and sitting on the shore of a sparklingly perfect beach.

That lasts roughly two hours. Eventually, Jean can't really ignore the fact that Jeremy's in some kind of fitness overdrive, and needs to stop, immediately.

His attention is caught, very briefly, he likes to think, by the sweat dripping down Jeremy’s back and highlighting his cheekbones, the sinews of his neck; he's back on push ups, and Jean's eyes linger on the way Jeremy's muscles flex as his arms straighten.

But Jean is not some attraction-addled teenager; he says, " _ Jeremy _ ," in as commanding a voice as he can manage, and Jeremy's concentration breaks and he flops to the floor.

"Jean? I thought you were sleeping."

"Not quite. Are you done?"

"Done what? With the push ups? I was going to keep going, until, um... All this energy, uh..." He laughs, awkwardly, and combs a hand through his messy hair. It is almost difficult to look at him like this, because clearly something has upset him, disrupted him from his usual routine, and now he's off-balance when he's supposed to be the only solid thing in Jean's world.

But Jeremy has his own world, and Jean shouldn't really be relying on anyone else so strongly, anyway.

"Is there something wrong," Jean finally asks, voice flat and appearing quite uninterested.

"Wrong? Mm? What gave you that impression?"

Jean sighs, and says, "I have Laila's and Alvarez's numbers, too, and I  _ will _ call them if you do not explain this... _ display _ at once."

Jeremy pales a little at that, a sort of ghostly pallor settling just under the bronze of his skin, and gets off the floor, shifting some of his clothes to the side so he can sit on his bed. Folding them neatly and stacking them to the side, he says, "I'm a little nervous, is all."

"Yes, I rather figured that out myself."

"The rest of the team is arriving today," Jeremy says after a long, still moment wherein Jean sort of sits up too, although he gathers round his duvet over his shoulders. Jean frowns at this, eyebrows raising before he can stop them, and Jeremy says, "Did you forget? You've been so out of it lately... It's June, Jean. Pre-season practise begins...well, tomorrow. Everyone's settling in today. The new recruits...the old ones...and  _ you _ . And  _ me _ , as captain."

"You were captain last year."

"Yes, but... I don't know, I feel like things have changed, that so many things are out of my  _ control _ . Everything with the Ravens is entirely messed up; the Foxes have become an incredible team in the span of a  _ year _ ; and now you're here, and you've been so helpful with these drills, but lately you... You are so distant, and I'm  _ so _ worried about how the team will react to see you here. I haven't told them. We thought it wasn't- wasn't  _ wise _ , to let them know. We were going to introduce you, carefully... I don't know if that's the right approach. I don't know-  _ augh _ , anything!"

Jeremy abruptly leaps from the bed to the floor and starts doing crunches. "I can't help being nervous," he continues, Jean watching, faintly bewildered by everything. A corner of his mind though has turned dark and angry at the way Jeremy despaired  _ you are so distant _ . "I need to  _ lead _ them, and I... The thing is, Jean, with you here and Riko dead and Kevin with the Foxes... With the Ravens in such a state at the moment, I... I think we have a real,  _ strong _ chance of winning this year and- what if I mess it up by being a terrible captain? What if I take the wrong chances, make the wrong decisions? What if I chose the wrong recruits? What if you and Alvarez never settle in together? You two are my strongest backliners, I  _ need _ you both at my back. This is our chance for  _ greatness _ , and I don't want to go down as the captain who threw it all away because- because he's..."

Jeremy shakes his head, doesn't finish. Jean can't help but wonder how Jeremy would've ended that sentence, however; what deficient thing does Jeremy see in himself that the rest of them are blind to? Perhaps it's this anxiety that forces him out of bed at such  _ ungodly _ hours and into this state. It reminds Jean a little of Kevin, in fact; on the days of truly important matches, the days when Riko would be watching them with his unbearably hawkish eye, and Kevin would pace and exercise and spill out all his concerns in French to Jean.

"The Ravens are falling apart," Jean finally chooses to say, because there is a lot in what Jeremy said that Jean can't deny or ignore. Jeremy  _ could _ make the wrong decisions, might have chosen the wrong recruits, could very well be known as the captain who threw everything away. He doesn't think it's  _ likely _ , but it's a possibility that Jean can't refute with hard, clear evidence. But Jean knows the Ravens inside and out. "They don't have a king.  Their queen has betrayed them. And I am no longer their punching bag. They will be turning on each other, and they will be scared and angry about the investigation. The scrutiny will be unbearable. All their rules don't work anymore - if you had the ball you passed to Riko or Kevin or me, if you thought you could score you always set it up so that  _ Riko _ scored, and you did everything you could to make sure Riko noticed you and thought you were good. But Riko is dead now. The hierarchy will collapse in on itself."

Jeremy watches him with hooded eyes as he speaks, fingers steepled together. Jean thinks Jeremy should be writing this down.

"You have a chance," is what Jean has been trying to say. "And you have me. That may be a terrible problem, but it is also insight into the enemy. I  _ know _ their weak points, Jeremy. I know the things they've done, what they're capable of, and what they're  _ not _ ."

"You'll help me, won't you?" Jeremy asks, his words desperate, his voice strangely breathless. The look in his eyes is one of pure intensity, focused on Jean. The lamp on Jeremy's nightstand turns his eyes extra gold. "By my side, Jean. Work with me. We can- we can do something incredible together with this team. Can you feel it?"

Jean hasn't felt much of anything these past few weeks, but he can't deny that the time they spent working on drills together was something he hadn't quite experienced before. If Jeremy believes that, why shouldn't Jean? Factually, they could be brilliant together: Jean's technical knowledge and impressive skill; Jeremy's ability to lead, to share, to  _ create _ .

So Jean isn't lying when he says, "Yes."

Jeremy's eyes light up, and his hands stop shaking so intensely.

\--

Their usual morning run goes about as well as one would expect; Jeremy collapses to his knees on the pavement about halfway through, groaning something about Jean continuing on without him, and it penetrates through the fog that's been surrounding Jean these past weeks enough to make him actually  _ laugh _ . Jean tries to get Jeremy to keep running, but he utterly refuses, and so they powerwalk back to Trojans' Hall, only running on the way from the lift down the corridor to their suite.

"If I ever wake up like that again," Jeremy advises once they've both fallen back against their beds, "just knock me out. Like, get a book and just whack me with it. I don't think I can cope with that much exercise in only three hours."

Jean says thoughtfully, "I got hit with a book once." Jeremy's eyes fly open, but Jean simply says, "It didn't knock me out, though. Perhaps a baseball bat?"

"I play exy, Jean, not baseball" Jeremy says, a little carefully, like he isn't sure if it's okay to joke about this sort of thing. Maybe it isn't, but Jean's feeling so numb to everything that it doesn't really bother him. "I could fetch you an exy stick, though."

"Well, it breaks hands, I think it will knock you out, too."

"...You know, maybe I'll just buy some sleeping pills."

"Less bruising."

"I'm just not sure I could survive you swinging at me with a racquet."

"I would be gentle," Jean says, and Jeremy meets his gaze with a tilted brow, a crook in his grin.

"Oh?" Jeremy says. "How is one gentle with an exy stick?"

"Well, shall I put it this way; I would not be  _ as _ brutal as I could be."

"That's very kind of you."

"That is just the sort of person I am."

Jeremy smiles at him, full and bright and the kind of brightness that leaves an imprint on Jean's eyes when he looks away. If he shuts his eyes, he sees it: Jeremy's toothy grin, with his big, soft-looking lips, a shade or two darker than his skin, and the dimples that come with the smile. The  _ dimples _ ... Jean struggles to open his eyes again.

When he does, he sees Jeremy checking his phone: "Alvarez and Laila will be pitching up before eight," he says. "They wanted to settle in early so they could help out dealing with everyone else."

Jean nods.

"After that, we've got twenty-four more people arriving... We just need to make sure the new recruits know their roommates and which room they have; everyone else will be fine. The young ones come before midday; I figure we get them sorted and then we let the older ones in, you know? And then we can all gather in the lounge with the coaches, introduce you, talk about next season... Yeah?"

"There will be no adverse reactions to my presence?"

Jeremy pulls a face. "Can't guarantee a no," he admits, "but - well, you saw how I handled Alvarez. The team know what will happen if they step out of line. Besides, Alvarez is a special case. Most Trojans will try and look beyond your past as a Raven and accept that you're joining us a Trojan."

"But I'm not a Trojan," Jean murmurs, "and they will know that the moment I step on the court."

Jeremy's eyes get very shrewd. "Yes," he agrees. "But so long as you try to get along with them, they will reciprocate. Being nice isn't a publicity stunt for us, Jean - you know we  _ mean _ it. Kindness begets kindness. And- well, everyone will have seen the reports coming out of the Raven investigation. They'll extend some leeway to you."

"You are sure of it?"

That grin again. "More or less."

"I suppose I must take your word for it."

"I suppose!" Jeremy grins and rolls his eyes, then gets up. "I'll take first shower, yeah?" Jean nods, and Jeremy bounces up to the bathroom, leaving the door halfway open, and it isn't long before the shower turns on and steam starts drifting into the bedroom.

It gives Jean a little time to think, at least. He sits on his bed, staring at the half-open door in front of him, and considers how today is going to go. Jeremy wasn't wrong before - Jean's been utterly out of it lately, and that's how he didn't realise it was finally June, and that the rest of the team would be pitching up today. It's a rather terrifying thought, though it pales in comparison to what's already behind him. If he can survive Riko after Kevin ran off- if he can survive Riko after  _ Kengo _ died, then he can handle meeting a few Trojans. Twenty-four Trojans, in fact. And their coaches. And, of course, their counsellor.

Well, at least he's already met Ms Sofia, and hopefully won't have to have a physical examination again.

He always knew that the rest of the Trojans would appear, and the relative peace of his time with Jeremy, and occasionally Alvarez and Laila, would be broken; he should've paid more attention, savoured it more, considered how to deal with this day more. Despite Jeremy's words, Jean knows the rest of the team will be suspicious - some as much as Alvarez is. Maybe some  _ more _ . Jean would be the same in their position.

Trojans have always been civil with Ravens, even when the Ravens were cruel and unkind and utterly unrepentant about their superiority, but there's a difference between playing a team and having someone  _ from _ that team on  _ your _ team. And Jean was marked for Perfect Court; Jean was, it would've seemed to outsiders, one of Riko's  _ lackeys _ . No one, except Kevin, and perhaps Neil, know the real, full truth. Not even Jeremy, not even Renee. The team will see him as an unkind, mocking, heartless ex-Raven with exceptional skill - skill that is hampered by his past injuries and still-unrecovered body. Perhaps they will treat him with some kindness, if reports on Edgar Allen are already coming out from this investigation, but...will that be enough?

Will he have to rely on Jeremy, and perhaps Laila, to protect him from the rest of the team? What if they can't? What if they don't want to?

But surely...nothing will be as bad as the Nest was. Jean shouldn't worry about this sort of thing; he overthinks and terrifies himself, drawing from past experiences as if the Trojans could be anything like the Ravens were. They won't be. They  _ won't _ be. They may not be perfect, but they would never be that cruel.

And if Jeremy puts in a good word for him... Well, he's their captain. At the end of the day, they have to do as he says.

"Jean?"

"Mm?"

There's Jeremy, emerging from the bathroom, towel wrapped round his hips and looking like a young Greek god. As always.

"You can shower now, if you like. I called your name a few times...are you alright?"

Jean blinks, pulls his gaze away from where it had wandered listlessly to the side of the room. "Yes... Yes, I will shower now. Excuse me."

He gets off his bed, gathers some clothes, and shuts the bathroom door behind him, but leaves it unlocked, like always. The room is still damp and muggy from Jeremy's shower, but Jean is glad for it; the mirror is too fogged up to show his reflection. He can see his body, a blurred, tall thing with pale skin, a smudge of black on his face, but that's it. No scars, no detail. No need to see the horrendous thing he's become.

If his mother could see him now... She had tried so hard to keep him away from his father's work, to stop him from being another Nathaniel Wesninski, but it didn't work. She couldn't bear to see a single scratch on his skin. If she could see what has been done to him now...

He doesn't even know if she's still alive.

He has a shower, and stops thinking. It's worryingly easy.

When he finishes, he dries himself off and changes fully in the bathroom, emerging to see Jeremy also fully dressed and at his desk, scribbling something down whilst glancing at his phone every two seconds.

It soon becomes clear why:  _ "The last one in before the new recruits is Williamson... She's coming down from Canada and her flight gets in at eleven. She'll just make it before midday. Does that work for you, Knox?" _

"Williamson has a car, right? One she keeps down here? Or am I thinking of someone else?"

_ "Someone else. Williamson needs to be picked up, so either you or Alvarez can get her, or you can try and convince MacRobert to stick around long enough to take her with him. His truck will be pretty full by then, though." _

"He gets in at, what, quarter past nine?" Jeremy says, consulting his notes. "And he's got five seats in his truck, and if he drops his stuff off here then goes to the airport... Then if you give two seats to luggage... He's already taking three people..."

_ "It'd be a tight fit, but I'd prefer if he brought her back here so that you and Laila are both around when the new recruits start coming in past midday." _

"I can try," Jeremy says, "but he's stubborn... Well, shall I call him and see what happens, call you back later?"

_ "Yeah, the other coaches and I can take care of the recruits. There's only six of them coming in this year, and three of them are getting the same flight into LAX. I want you and Laila out front of Trojans' Hall to greet them and take them to their rooms, okay? Alvarez, too. I want you to keep Moreau in your room until everyone else is unpacked, alright? I want to introduce him to everyone at the stadium." _

"Coach... Jean doesn't like being left alone. I'm not sure that's a good idea."

_ "Knox..." _

Jeremy turns and glances at Jean, mouthing  _ sorry _ , before saying, "Really, Coach, I wouldn't argue if it wasn't a big deal. Neither of us feel comfortable with leaving him alone. How about... How about Laila stays up with him, and me, Alvarez, and...Cheung can look after the newbies. Cheung's one of the earliest in, right?"

_ "...Alright. I would've preferred the new recruits to meet their vice along with their captain, but...if it really is an issue, I'll trust your judgement. Now call MacRobert and convince him to pick up Williamson. Use bribery, if necessary." _

Jeremy laughs and says, "I would never, Coach." Then he hangs up the phone, and, scribbling some more, says to Jean, "I'm just sorting out travel arrangements. We should've done this ages ago, actually, but, uh... Well, we didn't. Sorry for telling Coach you didn't want to be alone, but...I figured it would come up eventually?"

"It's fine," Jean says shortly; he doesn't particularly care.

"Alright, well, you'll be fine with Laila. If anyone wants to see me beforehand they can come straight here, but after midday I'll have to go down to look after the new kids. Now...I just need to call up MacRobert, alright? It won't take long. Maybe. Hopefully." He does just that, and pops it on speaker again. "Hello, MacRobert, great morning, isn't it?"

_ "Knox, I literally just woke up and you're already calling me... What is it now? I already said I would give Sammy a lift, didn't I?" _

"Yes, you did, and I was thinking it was  _ so _ kind of you to do that, and perhaps you'd like to extend your kindness further?"

_ "No." _

"MacRobert-"

_ "I'm already picking up three people, Knox! I want to get back in time to sort out all my shit, as well! Can't you get Alvarez out there? Or yourself, maybe, since you're our captain and you actually own a car as well? Christ, Knox-" _

"What if I told you," Jeremy said carefully, "that you'd be picking up Williamson?"

_ "...Williamson? Jen Williamson?" _

"The very same."

_ "...What time does she get in?" _

"Her flight arrives at eleven."

Across the wire, MacRobert lets out a very heavy sigh.  _ "Fine. Sure. I'll wait half an hour and bloody pick Jen Williamson up. But  _ only _ because she's Jen Williamson, Knox." _

"Thanks, MacRobert!" Jeremy cheers, and immediately hangs up to call up the coach again. After confirming that MacRobert has consented to picking up Williamson, Jeremy scrawls some more notes down, then slumps back into his seat and spins round to look at Jean. "Being a captain is  _ exhausting _ ."

"...I can see that."

Jeremy shuts his eyes and leans his head back even further. "So that was Coach Rheman, our main coach. We've got two assistant coaches beside him. Before that I called up Robin MacRobert, who absolutely hates his name so never actually call him Robin. His dad's Scottish, though, and had to suffer being called Robert MacRobert, which is..." Jean raises a brow, and Jeremy rushes on, "Well, anyway, he's another goalie of ours, and he, along with half the boys on our team, has a raging crush on Jen Williamson, from Canada, so obviously he agreed to pick her up. He's also taking Davidson, Larson, and Garcia...leaving...thirteen others to get here. In the next...four hours." Jeremy sighs. "Cheung should get here in like...an hour. Then everyone will come, and it'll be super busy until midday, then Laila will come in here and chill with you then when the newbies are in I'll come back and we'll go to the court. Alright?"

"...Alright," Jean says, fairly sure he got most of what Jeremy was saying. Sort of. Some of it, at least.

"Look," Jeremy says, rolling his chair over to make room. "Come over here, I've got copies of everyone's files, we'll go through them, right? So you're not too lost."

Jean isn't sure that will help, but Jeremy's tapping his fingers against the desk again and bouncing his leg up and down, and Jean figures it’s more something for Jeremy to do than Jean to learn.

He gets his chair, rolls it across to Jeremy's desk, and looks like he's listening carefully as Jeremy goes through every member, their strengths, weaknesses, names, and hometowns. Most are American, but they have the Canadian, and they have the half-Scottish boy, and Cheung was born in China but moved to the US when he was very young. They sound like an interesting bunch, especially the new ones, but their stats don't hold up against the Ravens, and certainly not up against Jean.

"Let's have breakfast," Jeremy finally sighs when they're through, and so they make smoothies and omelets and just as they sit down at the counter to eat, Jeremy gets another calls. "Mm, hello? Laila?"

He doesn't put it on speaker, this time, simply nods and says, "Alright, see you in fifteen," and hangs up again. "The girls," he relays to Jean, "will be here in fifteen with their stuff. They're in room seven. Unless you're the captain, you don't move rooms once you're in them, so Laila and Alvarez have had that room for the past year and they'll keep in until they graduate. I was in room eleven until I became captain last year..."

Jean nods, and keeps eating, and by the time Alvarez and Laila show up, Jeremy and Jean are finished and waiting for them downstairs.

"Captain!" Alvarez calls out, and flings herself at Jeremy as though she hadn't seen him the day before. "And Moreau, hello."

Jean inclines his head towards her.

"Hey, Alvarez. You not gonna help your girlfriend out with your bags?"

Alvarez turns a cheeky grin in Jeremy. "I like watching her lift," she says, and eyes Laila with appreciation as she takes out two big, filled-to-bursting luggage bags and hauls them over to the three of them.

"I like watching you lift, too," Laila says, and Alvarez immediately leaps into action. Jeremy goes to help, Alvarez parks the car, then they divide the bags up until they're all able to carry the load up in one go to Laila's and Alvarez's room. It's a tight fit in the lift, but they manage, and then they only go halfway down the corridors till they reach the room.

Alvarez tugs a key out her pocket, unlocks the room, then lets everyone in before her. The room isn't as spacious as Jeremy and Jean's, although perhaps Jean shouldn't be surprised by this - Jeremy  _ did _ say that as the captain he got a fancy suite, whilst his teammates had to deal with en-suite bedrooms. The room's a decent enough size, with two beds on separate sides, two desks, two drawers, two wardrobes. There is a small room in the corner than Jean assumes is the bathroom, a window opposite the open door, and then a rather large sigh of disappointment from Alvarez.

"They pushed the beds apart again," she says, and Laila's already moving one of the desks to the side. Jean watches in curiosity as she moves the desk, Jeremy moves the bed from lying flat against the wall to sticking out from it, and Alvarez drags her bed out of its position, spins it so the head faces the opposite wall, and pushes it so it lies besides Laila's. "There we go," she says as Laila tugs the desk to where Alvarez' bed used to be. Alvarez kicks the chair to go with it.

"Lovely," Jeremy says. "You know, there's a reason the cleaners keep moving your beds apart."

"Biphobia," Alvarez answers promptly, and Laila laughs.

"How's it biphobic, exactly?" he asks. "You know, one bi person to another."

Alvarez grins and says, "I'm bi, and they're inconveniencing me."

Laila laughs louder, and Jeremy smiles, and Jean wonders how they can all be so terribly open about their sexualities, especially in a  _ sporting _ environment. Surely the rest of the team are uncomfortable with them. Surely they'd be bullied remorselessly if Jeremy weren't the captain, and Laila weren't the vice, and Alvarez wasn't the captain's best friend and the vice's girlfriend.

Surely  _ Jean _ will be bullied remorselessly if the team get any the wiser of  _ his _ inclinations.

Surely...Jeremy would tell them to stop...?

"The  _ reason _ ," Jeremy says over Jean's thoughts, "is that teammates aren't supposed to be  _ canoodling _ together every night!"

"And yet we all do so anyway," Alvarez says airly, beginning to unpack one of her bags. "Besides, Laila likes my canoodling, don't you?"

"Yes, Alvarez, but  _ only _ your canoodling. I'm not interested in anything else."

"What about my caboodling?"

"It's just not the same."

Alvarez starts guffawing about the same time Jeremy's palm meets his forehead. "I don't know why I try to enforce room regulations," he says.

"Is that what you were doing," Jean says drily, capturing Alvarez's attention quickly. "It looked like you were  _ helping _ them break room regulations."

"I'm a multi-tasker," Jeremy says, and Alvarez snorts again.

"You boys are hilarious. What time is Cheung coming along?"

"About...ten minutes, now. Mind if we hang around here?"

Laila says, "Not at all."

So they spend the next eight minutes standing about whilst the girls unpack, talking about all sorts of frivolous things like such-and-such going somewhere for their holiday, and so-and-so spending a few weeks at one of their homes together, and so on, so forth. It sort of rolls off Jean; despite looking over their profiles earlier, he still doesn't know any of these people at all well.

Jeremy's phone beeping interrupts the tale of how MacRobert roadtripped across the US on his own, and he says, "That's Cheung almost here. I'll...leave Jean here with you whilst I go see him?"

"You don't have to go down, Jeremy," Laila reminds him.

"I know...but he'll have a few bags. I should help him. I won't be two minutes, alright?" The girls nod, but Jeremy focuses on Jean and says, "Alright?"

"It's fine," Jean says, and Jeremy smiles before heading back down the corridor.

It’s not fine. Not really. The concept of having a partner in Evermore was just that - you were  _ partners _ . You couldn’t switch, you couldn’t be left with another pair whilst your partner did something else. It was you and your partner against the rest of the Ravens, whether you liked it or not. Jean was the rare exception in that his partner  _ was _ changed, from Kevin to Riko to Neil and back.

That is to say: it’s not being left alone that stresses Jean out; it’s quite specifically being without  _ Jeremy _ . Jean knows he’s supposed to be shedding himself of Raven rules, but this one is too hard to let go of. He  _ shouldn’t _ be thinking of Jeremy as his new partner, the new half of their pair, but he can’t help it - Jean’s not whole if he doesn’t have someone to bleed with him. His brain has noticed the gap Riko’s death has left, and is now trying to stuff Jeremy into that slot as a replacement. It won’t work. They’re not the same.

And Jean’s an idiot, trying to enforce Raven rules on a place that’s the exact opposite of everything Evermore represented.

He can’t help it.

“You ready to meet the team?” Laila asks, slotting books into the shelf she’s claimed on the wall.

Jean shrugs, because the answer is  _ no _ but he doesn’t want to admit that out loud. Laila, as perceptive as one would expect from a vice captain, knows what he means anyway.

“It’ll be fine,” she says. “There are six other recruits in the same boat. Jeremy and I, we’re going to be splitting the training into sections for the first half of pre-season - into our positions. You only really need to worry about the other five backliners. They’re all decent people.” Then she looks up, gives Alvarez a grin. “Except her, obviously.”

“I’m decent enough to be leading our section, aren’t I?” she replies, her smile getting a little more sharp when pointed in Jean’s direction.

“Well, it was you or Jean, and you’ve been a Trojan longer,” Laila says. To Jean, she adds, “Don’t worry - just because you’re not the official leader doesn’t mean you won’t have input over everyone’s performances. Jeremy really values what you have to say about us, so if you have any important advice, feel free to tell the rest.”

She moves back over to her bed, where half her things are still laid out. Jean continues to not say anything, as he’s too busy focusing on not freaking out, and instead tries to listen to and process what Laila is saying. Divided into sections for practise, then? That might be a good thing. He and Jeremy came up with a bunch of position-specific drills, so this is probably his preferred way of implementing them. And besides, the sum is only as strong as its parts. If they practise in sections for the first half of pre-season, presumably the next half will focus on integrating those hopefully-stronger parts into a whole. It’s a solid strategy.

It’s not a Raven strategy.

He tries not to think about that, and tries not to panic. Thankfully, it’s not long before hear voices in the hallway, the sound of a door opening, and then Jeremy appears in the doorway, leaning against the jamb and smiling.

“That’s one down,” he says, “only twenty-three left to go!”

Alvarez cheers and Laila smiles, and for a moment Jean feels something in the air that hadn’t existed a moment ago - a sense of belonging and understanding, of excitement, anticipation. Jean didn’t feel it, not really, but it was there for a brief second between the other three. Perhaps this is what they feel at the beginning of a semester? Perhaps there’s genuine love and excitement to be back at college? Back in Evermore, it was…

It was nothing like this. Jean isn’t  _ in _ Evermore anymore.

He’ll only be too lucky if he doesn’t end up there again.

“I think you’ll like Cheung,” Jeremy says to Jean, coming into the room properly now and checking his phone. “He’s chill, super laidback, doesn’t poke into anyone’s business, you know...but a good time nonetheless. I, uh, asked him not to come here. Not so that- you know, uh… Well, I figure it’s better if we tell everyone together, not one at a time, right?”

Jean shrugs again. “I don’t care.”

“They probably think you’re protecting them from Laila and I’s lustful love affair, anyway,” Alvarez says, shimmying a cover down the duvet for her and Laila’s bed.

“That is, uh, the impression he seemed to get,” Jeremy admits. “Anyway, no one’s showing up for another hour, then they’ll all come in pretty quickly, then MacRobert’s bringing back a whole bunch of people, so…”

“So you’ll be running up and down checking in on everyone? It’s okay. We don’t mind keeping an eye on Jean,” Laila says, fitting covers onto the pillows and placing them at the head of the bed.

“Jean?” Jeremy says. “Do you mind? Only I’m captain, I sort of have to...be involved.”

“Fine,” he says, even though it’s probably a lie.

“Great!” Jeremy says. “Now, I just need to call Coach about Cheung, then we can chill, whatever…”   
  
“You can  _ help _ ,” Laila says, and Jeremy laughs and calls up the coach.

Nearly an hour passes, and the other three laugh and chatter and sometimes Laila or Jeremy will attempt to get Jean involved, but he doesn’t care much for it. He only cares when Jeremy disappears to get someone else, and he’s barely back a second to let them know before he has to run down and see someone else. It keeps going, and going, and the hallway starts filling up with a dozen or so different voices, some people knocking on the door and yelling hello before continuing to their own room. Others yell across the hallway, and there are dozens of greetings and tellings of vacation stories traded, and suddenly Jean’s very glad to be in this room.

  
Not his and Jeremy’s, true, but at least it’s nice and safe in here. No strangers, even if he doesn’t know Laila and Alvarez terribly well. They don’t ask him to help, although if any questions regarding exy come up, they’ll ask offhandedly for his opinion. He keeps his voice down, too nervous at the thought of people hearing him through the door. His hands keep shaking. He didn’t think he’d be so nervous. He’s seen most of the Trojan team before, but- but this is  _ different _ . This is him approaching them as a teammate, not an opponent. He was  _ good _ at being an opponent, it was easy to smirk and be cruel and follow Riko’s orders. He doesn’t know what to do with them if it’s not any of  _ that _ .

A wave of hopelessness washes over him. He doesn’t know how  _ any _ of this is going to  _ work _ . Not everyone is literal saint Jeremy - trying to fit in with Alvarez and Laila has been hard enough. But this is a whole team. This is  _ twenty-four other people _ .

He’s fucked.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoyed! sorry again ;;;

**Author's Note:**

> ! hmu @ [my blog](http://tyrellis.tumbr.com) where we can be merry and gay! (and if u care.... there's also [a vidgame/anime/ahrt blog](http://mlp-michaeljones.tumbr.com) and an [aesthetic/oc blog!](http://kill-your-heroes.tumbr.com)) hello yes im a loser who likes getting followers.... what can i say..... 
> 
> anyway, as i said before.... if u thought this was At Least Somewhat Decent, i'd love to hear! thanks for reading !


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